Impetus
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: It takes more than two seemingly opposite attractions to come together for a higher purpose. After the fall of Voldemort, what is there left when all hope seems to be lost? For one man, it's the decision to take the road often taken. For the woman that found her way into his heart, it's up to her to stop him.
1. The Beginning

**Title:** Impetus

 **Author:** Carolare Scarletus

 **Universe:** AU (Mildly); Marriage Law; Abduction/imprisonment

 **Genre:** Romance; Dark; Angst

 **Pairing(s):** Severus x Hermione; Multiple

 **Timeline: 1996-?**

 **Characters:** Albus Dumbledore; Severus Snape; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter; Ron Weasley;

 **Summary:**

It takes more than two seemingly opposite attractions to come together for a higher purpose. After the fall of Voldemort, what is there left when all hope seems to be lost? For one man, it's the decision to take the road often taken. For the woman that found her way into his heart, it's up to her to stop him.

"What is your purpose, Severus?" Dumbledore asked weakly. "I do know you have one, but what is it? If you cannot justify your hesitance, then you must discover your reason from prolonging your bitter existence. When you do, you will either finally be set free or finally reacquaint yourself with what you have been missing."

 _The choice between life and death has never come to a greater driving force between love and hate._

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¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

A Driving Force

Chapter One

The Beginning

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

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*.-"-.*

A call came on a silent evening,

And it was this whisper that promised so

Death stood quietly at the ancient door

Drawn to the shadow of eternal tour

A battle raged deep within

Torn between the fire

And the life to win

The veil to the end that he so fought

He soon almost came to find life was not all for naught.

In this decapitation of severing lies

And finding the driving force to life's unfair strife.

*.-"-.*

* * *

Albus Dumbledore has known tragedy. He has faced the conductor of fate, felt the cold hands of insanity, and caressed the bonds of time long before dawn even searched for a break on the horizon. He has known darkness as it has known him. And yet, as he stared into the night cloaking the surrounding land and the skin of Hogwarts, it has never felt so impersonal. There was a distance that he could not place, and he wished to address before the night was gone.

He stood with his hands placed on either side of the basin, his fingers spraying about the pristine gloss. The moon casted an eerie glow upon his face, and he couldn't help not draw his attention to the glowing orb as if asking what to do next. It has been almost two years since to the day that the threat to all humanity came back to existence. His feeble attempt to reign over the world had almost been forgotten. That is, until one of the few people who cared to listen, much less knew the truth, proclaimed to the world of his return. It was only recently that they cared to pay the boy any attention. A rude awakening had come to them all.

Albus stared almost hypnotically into the pensieve. The images that came forth from the disturbed, ivory substance had not be any help to him until now. Through the branches of his memories, he was able to find one of the first valuable pieces of information he was longing to share. They were dark images, images that he did not wish to see without the attendance or the company of another individual. He needed another opinion, someone to bounce of his ideas and worries off. Perhaps then, he could make better sense of it. For now, there were far more pressing agendas to attend to.

The night was still rather young. The feeble Headmaster-

Through the looking glass of his board, he could make out an approaching figure. His clothing bled into the straining environment as it pressed into the corridors in which he traveled. He watched as he feathered away, basking in the night, patrolling the darkness as if it certainly were an old friend. His pace quickened, and as Albus watched, he could see the sort of physical strain brought about only by torment and neglect flash across his features. He looked like a lost child searching for his mother. The way his eyes scanned the portraits, the sleeping faces of the canvases, snoring statues of iron and brass broke him. So much like the teeth of a crow, it tore at his insides until nothing but guilt and regret was left in wake of its searing touch. Oh, yes. Albus was regretful. So regretful in fact that he could not even bear to look him in the eyes when he finally barged in, soundlessly, and stood motionless behind him.

"You have made your presence known, Severus." Albus said in a gentle, neutral tone. Signs of distraction laced in his words. "It has also come to my attention that you do tend to forget that I am in possession of one of Moody's infamous mirrors. Am I correct?"

"You called, Headmaster?" came his stiff drawl.

"Alas, some mirrors are all too frightfully untrustworthy," the older wizard sighed. There goes a fine evening of trying to break the thick glass that separated them. Severus had never been one for jokes; although, he had believed that for once the boy he saw grow up would open up long enough for any resemblance of amusement to take root. Alas, his attempts were to no avail. After some time, a mutual understanding was given and the two set out to go about the routine they have come to grow accustom to all these weeks.

While Severus hurried about the room, waving his hands about the room and conjuring all sorts of useful implements he set out to prepare the night for one of the worst rehearsals. This nightly ritual of flying books and hissing objects was an old symphony that Albus which to annihilate. He did not voice this dark wish, however. He turned to Severus, watching indiscreetly as he prepared the cauldron for another night of torturous brewing. For months, it seemed, they have been doing this. Although the inevitable could only be prolonged for so long, he was glad to see that his most trusted ally was trying to comfort him the best way he could.

Death couldn't touch them unless there was a spoken alliance. Albus sourly hoped that Severus' time was far from the present moment, but he couldn't bring himself to dwell on such matters now. He was perfectly content with death's decision, even though he had forced the decision upon him through his reckless actions, or as Severus so kindly stated.

Oh, yes. He was very reckless. So reckless that it disturbed him. It was an obsession, really. One that had taken residence in his heart, and perhaps his soul. He could easily place such day in time; it had been the very day that he had travelled to a little orphanage and made acquaintance with a boy with dark brown hair and haunting eyes. A boy with absolute no regard to human capabilities, and found pleasure in even the vilest of tasks. It was then that Albus had found fascination. It was then that he had inspired to chase it.

"How is it coming?" he asked instead, cheerful.

Severus took a moment to respond. Shock flashing across his features before flickering away like that of candle light. The corners of his eyes twitched; he was very much annoyed, not prone to any sort of conversation. Potion making was supposed to be a quiet affair, Albus knew. So, why did he look so stricken with worry and fear?

"It is coming," he drawled, his voice slow and measured, as if he wasn't sure if he could speak his mind openly as he has always been able to," along. It will take another three hours to fully cure."

"I suppose we can wait around until it is complete."

"Indeed." Severus paused. "Your hand is stabilizing nicely. Have you been taking the potions I have brewed?"

The Potion's Master came up to examine the rotting flesh that was once pink with life and flowing with blood. With a quick work of his hand, Severus lifted the sleeve of his robe and looked taken aback by how quickly the curse had progressed. In almost a year's time, Albus would be either fully doused with the diseased or dead from its awful affects. Either way, the damage was done. Death would be absolutely painful, and there would be nothing he could do about it. He would die a slow, agonizing death. Albus did not look the part of a troubled man who had been diagnosed with an incurable disease; he looked perfectly content with it, in fact. As if death was just another means to an end.

Albus knew very well what he was thinking but chose not to nourish it. He would continue to take the blasted potions, do whatever needed to be done to keep him sane and safe. As awful as the potion's were, the nightmares, the attacks that pushed until the early hours of the morning were, he was perpetually happy. Like a summer breeze passing through him, he accepted the consequences of pursuing the darkness.

"Every night since." Albus admitted brilliantly. "I do not wish for things to end on a bad note, Severus. What we discussed last time must be left just that, in the past. Don't you agree?"

Severus made no move to agree or disagree; he merely turned to keep an eye on the potion. Neither spoke, neither moved. Both basked in the haunting lamp of the uncontrollable.

"What happened then," Severus drawled slowly, keeping his back turned away from him as not to allow the Headmaster to see his face," has long since been discarded. We both acted irrationally."

"Then you must understand why I had acted in such a way?"

He turned slowly around, his eyes darkened as they narrowed into impossibly small slits. While he whirled around to confront the Headmaster, the potion's brew noiselessly behind him.

"I understand," he said, his voice tight," why you did."

He had been a fool. He was man enough to admit that. What happened during their last session was pitifully embarrassing; neither of them had wished ill-will toward the other. It was their nerves and rising exchanges that caused a rift to form between them. He hoped to amend that.

Albus sat back in his chair. He kept a watchful, almost fatherly eye on Severus as he turned back to the cauldron and raised his hand in the air. Something, like a whirl of fuzzy light, came flying to him. It was always something to watch the young Potion's Master at work. There was a sort of art to brewing potions and lifting disastrous effects. Thus, bringing him to the situation they found themselves in. Albus knew he was only keeping himself alive long enough to sort things out. He needed him to understand, to agree to the arrangement. Even temporary, he didn't know how long his nerves would last. The witch he had chosen was incredibly brilliant with ever sense of the word. Smart, beyond her age, beautiful within her own reason if he were to be honest. But, would Severus see that? For someone so traumatized by his past, he surely did not live in the present moment.

How can he be so vain to see? To be so impoverished to the most vivid world of their own? How can he be so blind to see what he has been missing all these years? For someone who had solemnly reclined to being introverted for a majority of his life, why was it so hard to see that he was missing out on all things that humans should strive to obtain?

He hoped he would be the one to change him.

If not, then her.

"I take it that you have reconciled since we last met, Severus?" came the old Headmaster's genuine retort. There was a twinkle of amusement in his voice. Of course he was only trying to spar him on.

Again, Severus did not answer but Albus knew him well enough to know that it was of positive reception. He hoped he wouldn't be only one, either.

"Wonderful." Albus clasped his hands together and walked over to his desk. He sat down, waving his hand and conjuring a tea pot and two fairly nice cups. Dishes and pastries flew like birds around them before settling down on his desk. Albus reached over and picked up an exceedingly scrumptious looking apple tart and said," Why don't we have a snack while we wait? You are looking rather starved, Severus. Come, I had the house elves bake these and I'm sure they would love it if we catered to their inviting welcome."

A moment passed before he spoke. "I do not wish to partake in sweets, Headmaster." Severus' baritone voice echoed hauntingly through the gates of his office. "You have called for me on urgent news. I do hope you did not summon me on the accordance to waste what little time you have left. Besides, I do not like partaking in such rotting treats."

"Time," he considered the word carefully. "Ah, yes. Time. Something that none of us are entitled to, but surely wish that we had more of."

"Enough of your riddles," he hissed, slamming his hands on the wooden surface of his desk. "Have you any news or not? A simple question, I assure you, Headmaster."

"Is it wrong of me to want to spend some time with you, Severus?" asked the older wizard.

Severus snatched his hands from the desk as if it was an open fire and glowered at the old man. During this exceptional display of restrained habit, Albus was able to seek what he had been searching for. He had been dreading this night, this conversation. He was not blind or deaf to the rumors, to the speculation that circulated through the Wizarding World. It had been in the tabloids, all the newspapers and papers, having been the main title of interest for quite some time and it would have been astounding if it didn't somehow reach his ears and attention. He was a man of constant means, after all. A man who craved knowledge as much as the brighter suiters did, even more than himself. Albus had to be delicate with him. Any wrong move or misplaced word and all hope would be lost and his last command would be completely fruitless.

Time was indeed a virtue that he wished he had more of.

What he was about to ask him could only serve him or ruin him. Severus would not readily comply, so he heavily relied on a more tactical approach that he hoped that he would not see through.

"You know damn well that you did not call me to share a cup of tea and have our fill of pastries like some glutton beast." Severus hissed, his voice rising, his eyes darkening. "I am afraid to disappoint, but that is not why I agreed to humble you with my company. Either tell me why you really called me here for, or I will take my leave until the next night you require my potions."

Albus was quick to misjudge his anger. It was misplaced, as it always was. He couldn't very well allow him to speak to him in such a way, though. Not when time was truly whining down and the next day was just within their greedy reaches.

"If you must speak to me in such a way," the Headmaster set his teacup down and looked at him through his half-mooned spectacles," then at least give me the curtesy to say it straight to my face, Severus. I believe anyone would find it rather rude of you if you would not at least give them that."

Severus did not give him so much as the curtesy to choose his words wisely. He collected his thoughts rather quickly and forced them out through a stream of a nastily assembled tune.

"If you had wished to be spoken to with such welcome, Headmaster, I would not have bothered showing up." The black-haired male drawled slowly, delicate with his words as a sneer flickered ever so quickly across his face. It left a profound half smirk to stay upon his lips, much longer than Albus would have excepted. "However, I suspected you summoned me for important matters, and I would not wish for you to think of me as incapable of at least lending my ears. I have given you my word, have shown up when you needed me the most. I have given you every bit of my welcome as I possibly can, so the least you can do is be straightforward. You have come to mean more to me than just a professor, Albus. I am in your debt, as always. I do not have all night"

"I am aware." The Headmaster murmured softly.

Severus slammed his hands on his desked, leaned in and hissed," What is it that you wanted to discuss with me?"

Blue stared into black.

Light pushed against dark.

Albus' heart quickened and it was not long before he finally cracked.

"I called you here to discuss a rather important law that has been passed quite recently. One I am sure that you are fairly familiar with, as your name is one of the man chosen suitors."

"I am aware." Severus said slowly. "I do hope you did not call just to discuss that horrid law. Christ forbid that it even captures your attention."

"It has."

"What are you trying to say?" He narrowed his eyes, voice tight and jaw clenched. "Well? Spit it out."

"It has come to my attention," he clasped his hands together, brought his elbows onto the desk," that you are to choose a qualified witch to become your wife."

"I refuse."

"This hardly up for rejection, much less negotiation, Severus. You must choose a witch in the next sixty days or risk being thrown into Azkaban, or worse."

"How ideal that would be," he snarled. "You would love to see me whisked away by the Dementors and sent into the filth-infested bars."

"I would rather not."

"Oh, yes. You would rather not have one of the only trustworthy spies thrown to the horrid beasts, yes?"

"Do you not understand the situation?" barked Albus. "Fudge passed the law in hopes of securing the Wizarding World! How can you not put forth your faith, set aside your difference, and proudly serve?"

"What a disaster if I have ever seen one!" snarled Severus. "You know very well he is only trying to save his own neck by passing that damn law! Why else would he do it? The Dark Lord may be gaining power, but that does not mean we should subject ourselves to such degrading consciences. How can you be so calm as to say it is ethical?"

"I have never said that, Severus."

"You might as well have." He said calmly. An air of impregnable darkness hung over him like a cloud of misfortune. Albus almost appeared like he could see it. "You might as well have been the one to sign it, to write the law up. Why is my involvement, my corporation so precious to you? Why was my name placed on the list in the first place?"

"I put it there."

"In hopes of what?" he quirked an eyebrow, eyes widening slightly. Ah, yes. This was what he was looking for. The surprise, the immediate shock. Was is so much as a surprise that Albus had been the one behind putting their names on the list, hoping that they would be selected for one another? "Of running yet another life for your nefarious exploits?"

"Do you really believe that I put your name to exploit you?" Albus' voice echoed like a growing ring of a loud bell. "Is being married so much of a burden to you?" The Headmaster stood then, stretching his long fingers across the cold face of the desk. His blackened hand had been the marvel between them for weeks; now, it was this damned law that had only been past just this month. "Voldemort is gaining power, Severus"

Severus visible tried not to wince at the sound of his Master's name. "I am aware."

"Then you must be aware how vital it is for us to at least _try_ to comply to the law."

"The law is an absolute last disgrace from the Minister." Sneered Severus. "He is scared."

"As we all are."

"He is hiding behind his role, hoping that the law would buy us more time. Time that we do not have either way."

Albus didn't say a thing. He rolled his good hand into a tight fist and sighed.

After some time, Severus spoke out.

"I cannot." The Potion's Master whispered. "I cannot be saddled with some witch I hardly know."

"You will not be saddled, as you say, with anyone that you do not know. The witch that I selected is the most prestigious, someone that I hoped you would have found fondness in."

Albus went completely silent.

It was then that Severus realized something that he truly didn't think to ask. The Headmaster wished that the realization had come on a less forbidding notion.

"Who is she?"

"If you would- "

" _Who_ is she, Headmaster?" he asked again, this time his voice rising and thundering around the room. "I will not ask a third time. I want to know of the witch who I have been unfortunate to be chosen to share the union of marriage with. I bloody well deserve to know."

"I do hope you don't talk to your future wife like this."

"Headmaster!"

Albus sighed, sat down his cup and placed both his blackened and healthy hand on his desk. He looked him straight in the eyes, dreading what was for come. Had bene for weeks, to be quite honest. Now, it was time for the great reveal.

"Hermione Granger."

"No," he hissed in a low whisper.

The twinkling gleam in his eye was all he had to work on. Hermione would be his wife in a few weeks' time, be branded the name of Snape and given to him like a laced present of absolute distortion. She would be his to do with what he willed; no one could stand between them. If only he would agree. Then he would learn to love her, and know that he had not given this incredible burden of marriage for nothing. He would learn that opening his heart and being true to it could be a wondrous thing.

"I cannot." He shook his head, his anger rise, his hands clenching into tight fists. "You cannot ask me to take her as my wife. Anyone but her."

There wasn't anyone but her. Couldn't he see that? Hermione was more than qualified; she had been selected for him for a reason. Albus saw the potential; if only Severus could see it to.

"You have to know how important she is."

"Important to _whom_ , Albus?" He drew a deep breath in and let out sharply. "She is their best friend, his best friend. I play so many roles and the Lord is already suspicious of me. Narcissa asked me to aid the Malfoy boy in his task."

"And what task might that be?"

"He plans to kill you."

He could see just how troubled he was with the new arrangement. Between having to help the boy kill their Headmaster, and having to married to a girl who was barely of legal age, Severus was braking like a thin layer of glass under strenuous weight. He would very well be blown away if it was not for his resolve. He fought the emotions, pushed them back to the deepest catacombs of his mind. In there, he found another onslaught of disturbing images. From his childhood to finding out that his beloved death… he had seen it all.

Albus stepped over to him, his eyes begging.

"You think the boy is even capable of even doing so?" Severus did not answer. "Then I do not see why it should be cause for alarm."

"What do you intend for me to do?" he tried so hard to keep the emotion free from his voice. It broken in sudden places, but it did not betray him.

"Watch him." said Albus. "Help him if need be. You must not break whatever vow you made with the boy's mother. Every action you take now must be measured."

He walked over to the pensieve and began to extract something that he hoped he would find awfully useful in the long run. As he placed his wand to his temple, murmured the incantation, and extracted the thing lace that was his memory, Severus came up behind him to marvel at the mystery of what he was doing and demand what his next move should be.

"And of the girl?" he hissed. "What am I to do with her?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"What am I do with her?" he bellowed. "I cannot very well marry the girl. She will drive me crazy. She is already so close to me as it is. Forcing her to marry me will only strength it."

"Do what you always do, then." He watched as the sliver of memory join the countless others. Extracting a memory was always a rather odd thing to perform. It felt very much like being tickled, but this particular tickle was strange and happened as if there was a funny little headache sprouting like a seed inside his brain. "Lie and consort."

Albus tried to make some sense of his endless tirade. Did he not know the severity of the situation; if he chose not to comply not to the law, or to even his demand, less certainty awaited him. He risked his life, the rest of his existence for something that did not even sound as bad as it seemed. Granted, he had undoubtedly chosen the last person he would want to be acquainted with; she was still a student to them. She would be marked with ridicule, subject to the scrutiny of her peers. She could very much be the laughing symbol of the castle.

Severus was dead set on rejecting her, however.

"I cannot marry her, Albus." He could not even utter her name. "She is my student, an insufferable one at that. To even request it would no doubt lead to repercussions. He will find out, and he will slaughter her. I cannot allow that."

Albus didn't think of it before, but he was gravely aware that he at least admired his wife to be. At least he didn't wish for her to be thrown completely to the wolves. What a remarkable resolution! There was some hope for him, after all.

"She needs to be protected."

"She only _needs_ to stay alive long enough for you to use her." countered the disheartened Potion's Master." How can you be so selfish? How can you drag yet another innocent person into this battle? First Potter, then me, and now his best friend? How many more must you sacrifice? How many more, Headmaster? You only care for what they can serve you now. Afterwards, they will become nothing but a nuisance to you."

He regarded him coolly. Never in his twenty-five years of knowing him did he ever believe he would see this day. He was no stranger to his childhood, having seen it through the eyes of his young and vulnerable form. The man that stood before him was not a little boy who had been abused all his life, who had been reduced to isolation in a means to deal with what was happening to him. He saw a man who had overcame everything, who had given up his lust for the Dark Arts just to help aid a greater message. But, all the same. He saw a coward. Still a coward, always a coward. And he was very much inclined to make that observation known.

"You are a fool." The man finally crumbled into utterly dark seduction. His voice was laced with venom and unfathomably wrath. "How can you be so blind?"

"I am not the one who is blind." Severus countered with a punctuated stanza of his own. "It is you."

"Me?" Albus quirked a wary eyebrow. "It seems to stands to reason that you do not know what true blindness is, Severus. Why on earth would you accuse me of shielding myself in such a way?"

"You have always been naïve and deliberately unbecoming." said the Potion's Master. "You have chosen strategically the people you care not for. Putting them up for slaughter in hopes of using them until the last possible second. We are nothing but your pawns in this endless game of chess. Forgive me, but it seems that tables have turn oddly in another favor. You are the fool, Headmaster. Not I."

"Is this a game to you, Severus?" asked Albus. "That I move my players and kill them off in vain?"

When Severus did not speak, the older wizard continued to tap at his tough exterior, breaking him little by little by his words.

"Did you actually believe that I never put so much as a thought to this?" Albus moved, wanting nothing more to engage him further with this stimulating conversation. The potion that he had been brewing sizzled in the background, and for once he cared not if he was able to receive treatment for his diseased hand. There was no feeling or living flesh left in it, anyway. Even if he were to cut it off and place a glamor on it, the disease would still be there. It was in his blood, boiling away like the harsh embers of the hearth. No amount of ritual chants or prayer could rid him of the evil that he so stupidly sought. Severus, just like the brew, was temperamental. He would require subtle deliverance and care.

His dejection brought him to the window. The scenery was dreadfully dire; there was no time to frolic in reprimanding endeavors; they were talking not only about one person's life, but hundreds. He was not the only victim. Plenty of other witches and wizards have been subject to the new law. It was only in hope that they could remain protected. Anyone of absolute standing can pick whoever they wished, so long as they were among the qualified. Severus was a perfect example of this law; he did not come from a prestigious background, but he was noble. As noble and strong-willed as they came.

Yet, he was fighting it. Fighting the law, fighting him. It astounded him to know end that Severus would even consider being so closed-minded at a time like this. As horridly unconventional as the situation was, Albus couldn't help be reminded of a darker presence. One he was sure would rile Severus up and at least cause for a shift in his perspective.

There was no doubt in his mind that Hermione would be just as quick to reject the arrangement. He feared that she was learning about it this very moment. Only the older witches and wizards were allowed the gift to know of the new law before it was passed; she would be finding out about it soon, perhaps not until the start of the new term. He hoped against the odds that she would a bit more open-minded; it was not every day a woman was to be married, even if it was to someone they despised. He wished that they could at least try to be of use to one another. He saw the potential like it was staring him right in the eye. He could see how beautifully redeeming it could be for Severus, and how fulfilling it could be for Hermione. The reception, if anything, would be one of odds and Albus was going to make damn sure that it was held with mercy.

"Do you honestly believe that I did not plan this out?"

"Do you ever not?" Severus spat.

Albus let out a defeated, dejected sigh. There was no way of getting through to him; although, he would try.

"I must ask you, Severus," the Headmaster stared out into the open window. A gentle, soothing breeze rocked them. There was hope, it whispered. "What would Lily think of this arrangement?"

He turned from the window and stared at him.

"What are you-"

"-Implying?" he finished his sentence for him. "Yes, I knew you would use that word. As I knew you would act like this when I laid out my proposal."

"If you knew," he said through a clenched jaw," then why did you bother summoning me?"

"I needed to know." His voice was utterly weak.

"Needed to know what?"

"If you were up for the challenge of redemption." He said. "You are hiding in your past, Severus. Any fool can see that. You have allowed it to fester inside of you until it consumed you. But I see a light in you. A light I have never seen in anyone who has been so abused, so neglected and held in the dark."

"Perhaps it is better for me to stay where I have been thrown." Severus replied darkly. "At least I know nothing bad could come of it."

"Then why not accept it?" asked Albus. "Accept my proposal. Do with her that you could not do with Lily."

"I cannot."

"That is exactly what I am talking about." Albus turned to face him, his brows furrowing in the most dejected expression. "You are afraid."

"I am not afraid.

"She can save you."

There was physical barrier between them. Both men stared at one another, neither daring to speak, barely able to breath. Severus was on the verge of exploding; his eyes grew impossibly dark, his hands clenching at his sides as his lips thinned and the skin and muscles of his face hardened. He was seething. He was so incredibly angry.

Severus narrowed his eyes. He had hit quite the right nerve. "How dare you? How dare you even hint that some girl can save me?"

Of course this was a sensitive subject for him. How was a girl of sixteen, soon to be seventeen, going to be able to redeem him?

"You believed that Lily was your salvation at one point, Severus. Why is Ms. Granger any different?"

"I believed wrong." came Severus' heartbreaking reply. "I will not sink so low ask to risk another life being taken. I am already reaping what I have sewn. I will not hold the life of another person in my hands. That is not my purpose anymore."

"What is your purpose, Severus?" Albus asked weakly.

This question seemed to unnerve him because he did not answer right away. He had an inkling of what it could be; he was not so ignorant not to indulge him.

"I do know you have one, but what is it? If you cannot justify your hesitance, then you must discover your reason for prolonging your bitter existence. For not coming to terms with the past. When you do, you will either finally be set free or finally reacquaint yourself with what you have been missing."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Marriage Laws are laws used to ensure the safety and the continuation of a bloodline. Opposing individuals are bonded together in hopes the two will come together and produce an heir. The longer it takes for an heir to be conceived, the more their magic is taken away. They are cursed in such a way so that they have no choice but to comply.

I believe the compatibility of people steams from the connection of their souls. There needs to be a balance in order for any kind of emotional or spiritual enlightenment can be achieve. For Severus and Hermione, this comes in the form of trusting one another, of opening themselves up long enough and adequately enough to test their partner's trustworthiness and intentions. I won't say anymore, as not to ruin the entire plot, but I can say that you are all in for a tremendously satisfying, frustrating, and emotional ride. So, climb on board! :) The Coaster is about to take off!

Wrheee!

 **Thank you worrywart for proof reading this chapter! I didn't ask you to, but I was very anxious to know what I was missing or what had been left out. Thank you again! :)**


	2. The Darkness

**A/N down below.**

As always, enjoy

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Impetus

Chapter Two

The Darkness

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*.-"-.*

Tis the hope that almost went missing,

before the ship has yet to sail

that kept the young woman anchored

and afloat for a tale.

*.-"-.*

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 **Sunday September 1** **st** **, 1996**

A dark cloak of clouds had been placed over them. What was supposed to be a happy occasion was marked with dread. There, with his hands held out in offering was the sense of foreboding; the weather seemed to have sensed this dismay, and opted to play out their most terrible of fears in hopes of setting them up for disaster. King's Cross Station, which always seemed to be filled with noise and laughter, was now in shambles. It was as if the very essence of happiness had been stripped away from its walkway, the walls and the railing itself and replaced with nothing but emptiness. Anyone who was familiar with its joyful embrace could feel the shift; something dreadful was coming, and it was only a matter of time before it did.

The four of them stood facing the entryway, their backs turned, and their knuckles resisting the urge for blood. They looked blanched and hesitant and it was with the guidance of the matriarch of the home that they were able to throw away their fear and step through the parting, even for a moment.

Harry was the first to go, followed by his best mate Ron and his little sister Ginny. There was only one left out of their group that almost refused to step between the boundary of the Muggle world and that of the Magical.

Hermione Granger was a sensible woman. She liked to believe that she was. Although she was far from impudent and graceful swan, she was thought more beautiful for her intelligence and outlook rather than her appearance. At the tender age of sixteen, she was able to make sense of a lot of things. From being the Muggleborn that she was to the gift that she had been given had been a profound effect on her life; her ability to understand and to learn from what she was reading or being taught and to stand in what she believed in was one of the greatest aspects to have. While she was book smart, she was more or less at a disadvantage. She knew that this notion was deprived simply from her lack of experience, of even travel and exploration. Her mind worked in mysterious ways, and faster at that. So when an owl arrived with the Daily Prophet one bright afternoon, the new law flashing like a neon sign right before her eyes as the Minister of Magic read out it in front of the press, all she could do was laugh senselessly and shake her head.

The marriage law had been proposed at the end of the last term. It stirred quite a bit of commotion around the world, not to mention the ancient halls of Hogwarts and the only reason that she wasn't so concerned about it because it seemed implausible and unproductive. She didn't worry about it too much until she received a letter that her name had been selected out of all the participants and had been placed on the waiting list for a husband of equal standing. That was when all her fear came to light.

It was as if she had been thrown into chaos with the expectation that she defend for herself without weapon and armor. Since learning about the Marriage Law and those who were chosen, Hermione has been trying hard to make some sense of it but to no avail. She didn't understand the Minister's reason for establishing such a ludicrous law. She supposed she understand where he was coming from, but it was the final destination that she couldn't quite picture. Not that it was the easiest or simplest thing to envision. She was just not that artistically prone to see it as something that could be constructive for their kind. It would lead to tragedy.

She just didn't understand.

She has tried denying the entire manner, denying that something so fruitful and stupid could ever be a law in the first place. The Minister was a nutter, and it seemed like everyone else was boarding the same train. Harry and Ron tried unconvincingly that things were bound to work out, but she paid them no mind. She knew it was a delusional dream and that she ought to be more realistic, but come on. No one in their right mind would just give their lives away, all their hard work and aspirations just for some stupid law. This hatred came the day she learned that she could not escape this horrible fate. She had a whole life to live, and being chained down by someone she did not love was definitely not what she had envisioned.

Hermione sat in the small kitchen of the Burrow, her fingers going over the final words set before her. Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest. It had been from the solemn looks that her friends had given her and from the hopeless expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that lead to such a daunting atmosphere in the first place. Though well placed, she could get the since of unwelcome longing from creeping its way underneath her skin and nestling in the depths of her heart. She did not wake up that morning thinking that she would be presented anything that would ultimately change her life. It came as a surprise for all of them.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley began, troubled.

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. It couldn't be past six in the morning, and yet there she was. She had been drawn to consciousness, and she still couldn't figure out why. Even now, as she sat in the very room that she first learned of the Law, she could feel the tension between the feigned image and her present state of being. It was as if the kitchen was stamped with the same celestial makeup of that time, replaying for all eternity. She was destined to relive it every time she walked its tight corners or thought of its inviting atmosphere.

"I… er… believe that there is something that we ought to talk about."

Hermione looked between the two, wondering what on earth she had done. If she had done something wrong, she would have known. She looked at them with pleading eyes.

Mr. Weasley magically conjured a mug of coffee, sugar, milk, and anything else that he thought would ease the tension between them. Hermione took the mug, watching as the black liquid swirled like a little flushed basin until it filled itself to the brim. Three cubes of sugar soared to the sky and plopped into the mug alone with a healthy dose of milk. She wrapped her fingers around the mug and braced herself.

It was after they talked for some time that she learned the true purpose of the conversation.

"A suspect you've seen the paper."

She nodded, shaken by where he was going with this.

Mr. Weasley acknowledged her hesitance. "I didn't want to speak to you in front of the others, but we are… we want you to know that you shouldn't feel as if your life has come to a sudden halt."

"Then what do you want me to feel?" she whispered. "You must know how hard it is for me to even accept this, yes? If so, then why are you acting as if it's nothing more than some little task? This is my life we're talking about, Mr. Weasley. How can you be so calm about this?"

"It's not that we can't sympathize with you," Mrs. Weasley said softly, her eyes glittering with sadness, her brow furrowing. "We're just as shocked as you are. But there are some things that are just beyond our reach. We know you can't accept it. We would be quite surprised if you did."

"You're right," she murmured," I can't accept this."

"Then you ought to see it as we see it."

She thought they would be more understanding. He didn't have the highest government job, but she knew that he was more involved than he would ever let on. There was talk, there had to be. He should know something about the new Marriage Law, or so she was hoping. As she looked imploringly into his eyes, he wavered and broke. That was when he spilled more secrets that she even thought possible one person could keep, to which Hermione promise to recite back to Harry and Ron that evening.

"Hermione, we want you to know that were will stand behind you no matter what. This law… I don't know why they proposed it. Why it was even written in the first place is well beyond me, but I assure you that you will not be alone. We've talked to your parents, and even though you are of Muggle decent, I'm afraid that there is no way around it. I am so terribly sorry."

That was the one and only time that she broke out in tears.

When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally left the sanctuary of the kitchen, Hermione didn't bother looking up from it when a voice emerged from the depths of her enquiry. Harry was valuably known to perturb her even in the most silent of occasions. She sat with her hands around her coffee mug, the bitter substance swirling continuously gracious of Mrs. Weasley's pampering. It was just the right temperature and she was suddenly grateful that the older witch had casted the particular charm. Nothing seemed to stay down unless it was charmed, anyway.

It was still rather early, and when the trio finally came for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley was back to running around the kitchen and serving all sorts of nutritious treats. It was a nice distraction even if it still lingered in the back of her mind. They acted as if nothing was wrong, and she didn't give them any indication that there was.

Hermione pushed it back, forcing a rather well-placed smile on her face and proceeded to eat her breakfast as if nothing was wrong.

It has been almost three weeks since she sat down with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and she was nowhere near accepting her horrible fate. She steeled herself rather importantly and proceeded to read over anything that may serve her in any way. By the end of the month, it appeared to have been an utter waste, but she didn't give up hope. She knew she was onto something when she took another look at the Prophet and found something that would shake her world upside down.

She looked at the looming wall with accompanied fear. Biting her lip, she almost dared to look over her shoulder as if to ask Mr. and Mrs. Weasley if it was safe for her to go through. She was well rest assured that it was; if it was their encouraging smiles that had anything to do with it then she didn't know what else would have caused her to feel suddenly turned and heroic. In the back of her mind, she thought of her own mother and father and the embrace that they gave her before arriving to the Burrow and how much it meant to her then and would forever be kept as a treasure now.

With her mind made up, Hermione tightened her grip on her trolley and ran forward. She fought through the barrier, stepping on the other side of the wall completely in one piece as she suspected she would. She only need reassurance that it would be alright.

"We better hurry up," said Harry as she joined his side. "The train will be leaving shortly."

"Do you suspect that there will be talk?" asked Ginny.

The Half-blood quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. "If there is, we'll handle it. No need to show them that we're afraid."

That was when Ginny looked over her shoulder and gave Hermione a soft smile to which she returned. It had taken quite a bit of acceptance, but she believed that she had finally found peace with something she couldn't control.

It all began with the Marriage Law, to which she harbored absolute resentment toward for the longest time and it was just several days ago that her fate had been completely seal and her life torn to pieces right before her eyes. She had been in the Weasley's kitchen when she thought she discovered something that would have kept her safe for the duration of one year. Oh, if it hadn't been for the smallest of facts, she would have had it, too.

"The law hasn't been passed," she said one day, alerting the attention of no one in particular. She was alone in the kitchen once again, being one of the few members to wake up at such an early time. She loved the mornings, finding it refreshing and boy did she feel refreshed!

Hermione's eyes combed over the words and her cheeks flushed with unbridled excitement. If it hadn't been for the restriction due to her age, her magic would have surely shot out of her body and whacked someone upside the head, that person being Harry as he clambered into the kitchen, heading straight for the pot of coffee. Hedwig was hot on his tail; she seemed overly content about something as well.

She looked at him with a large smile.

Harry asked if she was alright, and she then answered rather quickly.

"Yes," she chirped a little too enthusiastically," more than alright, in fact."

She could feel his gaze on her and she looked up. He knew he was questioning her sudden change in demeanor and she couldn't contain her excitement much longer.

Ron and Ginny walked into a short time later. Ginny was of course more presentable than her brother. She looked defined and bright and Ron looked as if he had rolled off the wrong side of the bed and fell face first onto the floor. It was odd. Not that they ever stood alone or apart. It just severed to scare and unnerve her. Ginny gave her a fleeting smile while Ron looked sickened. Neither of them spoke, of course. They were too frightened.

"What?" she asked rather impatiently. Hermione stood, grabbed her mug and proceeded to busy herself around the Weasley's kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley was out in the garden and the twins were due to arrive anytime. Bill and Charlie were upstairs and Hermione suspected that Fleur was either somewhere in the attic or got lost in the gardens with gnomes. Maybe Crookshanks had gotten a kick out of chasing her around, too. Good God, she knew she needed a good, humorous laugh. She was clearly not in a conversational mood; she hasn't been up for much of anything since receiving the owl that sent the awful article. What bothered her the most had yet to come given that there were less than two days of the month left to grovel.

In two days she would receive a letter. And not just any letter. It was the one that would tell her who her potential husband to be was, and if their union was valid or not. She could not stop thinking about it. Not even seventeen years old, she had to be one of the youngest witches to be carted off to some nasty old man in hopes of keeping the population of the Wizarding World safe. To even entertain the idea was laughable and it preposterous to even think it would work! How was this supposed to help the population? Either way she looked at it, people were sure to die. To think if she were to marry a man worthy of her and someone she could eventually come to love, she wouldn't only have them to think of. The law encouraged consummation like it was their business to know what they did inside and outside the bed. They would be marked by magic to ensure they were coming together as man and wife at least once a week.

Circe!

She had to curl her hands into tight fists and take deep, enduring breaths just to calm herself down. It was the second time today that she truly believed that she would be expelled. She was just that angry. Her magic played about her like an animal locked away in a dark cell. It was only a matter of time.

But, she really needn't worry did she?

The Law would affect her for another year, but that didn't mean they would withhold telling her who her potential husband was. It wasn't something she could say she looked forward to either way. She just hoped they waited and saved her the trouble of telling her too soon.

Harry and Ron were quite reluctant to talk about it. She knew that it was in their nature, more Harry's than Ron's, to act protective over her. They've been friends for years, and to see someone who clearly didn't deserve her even whisper her name or touch her infuriated them. She imagined, if it were up to them, they would have a table set outside the Great Hall, having interviews with potential suitors, going through the list of candidates as if it were a hearty debate. Even after choosing a worthy wizard, they would probably follow him around and do even more background checks just to make absolute sure.

She giggled wondrously at this thought. Leave it to her boys to be demanding and protective even in her imagination.

Her potential husband would to have to make it through them before they could even think about touching her that was for sure. They had better be able to put up with the overbearing nature. If he couldn't even do that, then she knew with certainty that they would no doubt be able to handle her. She could be quite the little know-it-all, and if her knowledge didn't deter them then it would be her inquisitiveness that would send them running. She had the entire marriage played out and it hasn't even been consummated!

"Wanna tell us why you're so happy?"

Harry had quite the audacity compared to his counterparts. It was something she dutifully noted. While she sat, her fingers playing with the rim of her mug like a little musical instrument, her focus was brought back to the moment. Hermione waved her hand, indicating that she didn't want anything of the sort. She was quite smitten by the idea of marrying a man that she didn't love. No, she was going to wait it out, but not without voicing her little discovery.

"There is nothing to say," she murmured, taking a sip of her coffee and smiled, "except that I think I found a way out of this ridiculous law."

"What the hell do you mean?"

It was so delicious that she actually wet her lips and let out a little chuckle.

"Did either of you care to actually read the new law?" When they shook their heads, she sighed and proceeded to explain what she found. "I'm not of age. I won't be for another month or so. They can't possibly hope for me to marry when I am not of age. I've read over the law countless times and it mentioned that the witch or Wizard who became of age before the date that it's been passed had to wait another year to be engaged to their potential spouse."

The bright witch giggled, took another sip of her coffee and let out a satisfied sigh. This scholar of an action wasn't well received as she thought it would be. Granted, they were probably as stunned as she had been when she first read it. Anyone who was chosen or had someone they loved up for market would be too. It was small little thing, indeed. One that she hoped would make a whole lot of difference.

Harry looked at her as if she said something in a foreign language while Ron continued to ponder what it meant.

"Are you saying that the new law doesn't affect you?" Ron asked sheepishly.

"Yes, Ronald." Hermione said, aggravated. "That is precisely what I said. The law doesn't affect me because my birthday is in September. Besides, it won't be passed until October. I don't see what it has to do with me. Right now, I'm safe and there is nothing they can do about it."

She almost laughed at it. It was just so scandalous to think that the Ministry tried to pull a fast one on her and anyone under the age of seventeen. She was indeed safe. At least for now and just as she was about to yelp in victory, something unsettling was casted over her.

"Hermione," Harry began, torn between being supportive and a good friend and telling her something that she knew she didn't want to hear," you might want to take another look at the Prophet. There's something there that you ought to see."

The Muggleborn frowned. She didn't want to be thrown something at the last minute and ruin her avoidance of being married to some old wizard due to the new law. She wanted to be free, remain free. No one was going to bring her down and make her into some house wife and expect her to submit to his demands.

There happened to be the latest issue of the Prophet sitting on the kitchen table between the four of them. Hermione had ignored it when Harry brought it in, thinking that there wouldn't be anything else on the matter of the Marriage Law.

Then again, it wouldn't hurt to at least look. Worse had come to shove because she was already chained to the law, to which that she knew for sure. There was nothing she could do about it. She wouldn't go down without a fight, however.

Harry handed her the Prophet and that was when all her troubles and woes began. Hermione opened to the page of the paper and her heart literally sunk to the bottom of her chest.

Unfortunately for her what she thought was a triumph was a bitter defeat.

She was terribly wrong.

 _It is under the Compliance of Magic Safety set by Minster of Magic that the Marriage Law has been established in hope of preserving the Wizarding World's most prestigious families and persons worldwide. Those who have been chosen for this wondrous task of uniting together and serving their magical communities with their cooperation are highly honored. Many have signed up, but only those truly worthy of serving have been selected._

 _Due to the recent eligibility of witches and wizards, those whose birthdays fall on or before August 1st and are of age will not be added to the list until a more suitable date and are forbidden to practice the law until further notice. Those who fall afterwards and are of age will be added under special conditions. Those who are already of age and are legible have been placed on the list and are encouraged to wait for further notice of their acceptance. Anyone whose age exceeds that of eighty-five will not be eligible due to questionable circumstances._

 _The selected individuals shall be informed the first of September of their suitors. Marriage vows are expected to occur after the coming of age for the witch or wizard in question._

 _This law is binding. It has been set to ensure the safety and the continuation of a bloodline. Opposing individuals are bonded together in hopes the two will come together and produce an heir. Couples will adhere to the attached law that states that the must come together as a married couple at least once a week and that no contraception can be used after their first year of marriage unless the couple has come to an agreement to start trying for an heir before their first year has been completed._

 _Anyone who tries to oppose the law will immediately be taken up and sent to Azkaban if the offense is great enough._

 _It is the Minister's great pleasure to ensure the safety and corporation of the witches and wizards concerned, and hopes to ensure the quality of the treatment of all wizards and witches herby affected by the passing of the new law._

 _The Law is indefinite._

 _Established: August 17, 1996_

 _ **Rufus Scrimgeour,**_

 _Minister of Magic_

Her heart was beating so fast that she felt that it would jump right of her chest and run away from her. Her hands tightened around the moving picture of the Prophet as her eyes ran over the words again and again until they grew tired.

According to the law, there was absolutely no way she could get out of being shipped off to the most qualified wizard. The law was so airtight that it felt like it was suffocating her.

"H-how?" she gripped the parchment between her shaking hands. She reread the final page, making sure that she had read the paragraph right. Once she did, her hands tightened considerably more. She has never been this enraged in all her life. The law had already been passed, which meant that there was no way that she could be taken off. Her birthday fell an entire month and then some after the established date, ruining any chance that she thought she had of not being affected by the law. She was essentially doomed.

How could she have been so blind, so cocky? She had seriously thought she had found a way around the law! For weeks she's trying to think about a logic way around it. The law was airtight all except for the simple fact it hadn't been passed yet. Oh, but it had. Right underneath her nose, too! If it wasn't for the stupid law stating that one had to be of age, or that their birthdays had to fall before or after a certain date then she would have been saved! Even for a year, she would have been safe, wouldn't have to deal with the possibility of throwing her life away. Either way she looked at it, she was throwing her life away and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered, letting out a sound torn between a cry and groan. She brought her hands to her face and let a cry escape. "I-I th-thought…"

"Pray like hell that you aren't paired up with someone as old as Dumbledore." said Ron stupidly, trying to cheer her up. Ginny nudged him painfully in the stomach emotionlessly before turning her attention to the Muggleborn. He heeled over, coughing.

"You're not helping," she hissed before her eyes trailed back to the witch.

Hermione reread the entry through teary eyes, finding no loophole in the law whatsoever. If she were to marry someone she found absolutely repulsive, there was no way she could tear herself from him. Divorce did not seem like an option, something that wasn't directly addressed, but would no doubt be one of the great offenses that it spoke of. She would be tied to someone she hated, expected to have intercourse with them, and after a year, would risk getting pregnant every time they did come together as husband and wife. What kind of entrapment was that? Did she have any say in anything regarding this impending marriage?

Or, did she?

Perhaps, if one were to be infertile, the marriage would be annulled and she would be free from whoever was chosen for her.

Well, that was a pleasant thought.

Of course, it put it at risk if she were to perform a spell or charm that would leave her barren. It was still a little discouraging. She wanted children but not when she was still in school. Every merciful God she could recite came to mind and she began praying as if her life depended on it. And it did. Her new husband would surely have her head if she spoke out of terms. She thought of this arrangement more of imprisonment rather than a graceful union. There was nothing graceful or beautiful about it; she may as well have sold her body and soul to a demon. Her mind was running a thousand miles per second as she tried to solve this conundrum of a problem.

There had to be way out of the marriage. If she couldn't prevent it, then there was still the possibility of adultery. She knew she had no choice but to be loyal to the man that was picked for her, but the law didn't have anything to say if the man in question wasn't. It seemed like the law was more suited for the young witches that ran around so fertile, so inviting that the law had to protect them at all costs if they were chosen and selected as a candidate. As a young witch herself, she saw it as something so low and sickening that she hoped that whoever was landed with her was prepared. There was no doubt she was quite a handful; no wizard in their rightful minds would cross her, even someone as civil as Ron would be that foolish. Anyone who tried would be set in their place that was for sure.

The only thing she could hold onto now was the threat of infidelity. If they tried to hit her, that would be grounds for arrest as well. She would be able to defend herself if the worst possibility ever came. She didn't want to think this way, but she actually hoped to God that her husband had a penchant for rule breaking. Even if that made having to bear the news that he had touched someone else, she didn't care. In fact, she could care less if he took another witch, so long as she found some way out of being married. No one would keep Hermione Jean Granger locked down. No one.

Of course, she didn't have to worry about that now did she? She would be expected to follow any requirement set by her new husband. He would have rules to adhere to as well. And then there was the possibility that she would eventually grow to accept the arrangement. Now that would be cause for great alarm.

Gods.

What the hell was she about to get into?

If not for freedom, then for a bright future that she knew she had. If she couldn't prepare herself for the worse, she had no choice but to battle it head on. She knew she had to fight it, even if that meant be reprimanded in the long run.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. The thought of it was all too unbearable.

Ginny came up to her, offering her condolences as she sat down beside her and took her hands into hers. There seemed to be a disconnection between them that had only been mended by the kind words she offered. Only Ginny felt it necessary to extend that service; Ron and Harry simply could not understand the heart of a woman who was about to embark a journey that she didn't want to take.

"It'll be alright."

Hermione didn't seem like she wanted to be consoled in any way. She was more concerned about the little detail that she somehow overlooked.

"How could I have been so foolish to think?" she began before burrowing her head in her hands once again.

"It was a simple mistake," she murmured. "I would have done the same."

"That's not it, Ginny." She cried. "I thought I had some time. I wanted to be prepared at least for the inevitable. Now, I don't have that luxury."

Ginny smiled inconsolably. She truly did feel for her.

Harry took the seat next to her, followed closely by Ron. They sat around her, their eyes conveying worry, their expressions somber.

"The Minister seemed to have come to a rather quick decision." said Harry ponderingly after some time. He had tried to convince them all that there was something rather strange about the law, and he was determined to make them understand. "Have you once thought about the convenience of the new law and the war?"

Hermione shook her head. None of them seemed to have noticed that rather interesting detail. She seemed to questioning a lot of things as the words settled unnaturally inside her. She was still trying to wrap her head around it. Sure, it had been a topic between the four of them for some time, even more so since the bloody law had been passed. She just didn't think there was any sort of connection until now.

"It is," agreed the witch as she rubbed the corners of her eyes," rather interesting, but what are you trying to say Harry? That Rufus was forced to push for the law's passing?"

"It may seem so, yes." Harry looked at each of their faces and anger lit up in his eyes. "Don't you see? Someone is controlling him. Someone wanted to make sure that the law was passed quickly and without hesitation. For all we know, it was being debated for months and wouldn't have passed at all if it wasn't for someone interfering with the votes. I… you know who I suspect, but I don't understand why he would want to protect Muggleborns and Half-bloods."

"Maybe it's not his intention?" Hermione quipped. During the interim, she had regained some sense and was now seeing this whole situation in a new light. "Only qualified individuals were selected for this horrendous law. I-I may not be the blood status that they want, but they found something noteworthy inside me. Be it my intellect or abilities or what have you. They're trying to protect something, but it's not the one who are affected or going to be affected by the law."

"They're trying to protect what can be given them." Harry said softly. "They're hoping whoever these witches and wizards are paired off to produce viable offspring. Why else would they do it?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As one of the only Purebloods in the room, he felt obligated to feel guilty by his overwhelming emotions. It would benefit the Dark Lord greatly if Purebloods mated with each other, but what good would that do? There were so few of them, and their procreation would lead to more deaths and miscarriages due to the high risk. They were relatively safe. Half-bloods and Muggleborns, on the other hand, were not. Even someone as filthy as Hermione, or so some proclaimed, was worthy of such a high honor. It was a time like this that she would pray that no Pureblood was thrown into the mix, but she would be teasing herself.

Draco Malfoy was a known participant.

For what, they couldn't say.

The Slytherin could not be trusted for everything that his family was worth. He knew the circumstances of the arrangement before it even reached the public's ears. That was for certain, they knew. The image alone of him discovering this remarkable notary was enough to ignite an everlasting flame; the evil little bastard probably bribed his father to place his name among the worthy. They suspected so he could taunt Hermione every chance he got, but that would not be doing his own obsession with the witch any justice. Everyone including some of the Professors knew that Draco was enamored by her and it was not for any noteworthy reason. He was sick, twisted and vile and for whatever reason he wanted her. They hoped that he wouldn't be selected; it would be a cold day in Hell if the possibility of Hermione being a Malfoy ever came into fruition.

Ever since finding him in Knockturn Alley with his mother and following him all over the damned place, Harry's suspicions of the Slytherin had grown exponentially. It was almost like an obsession. His thought were ridden with whatever filth that he allowed to taint it. From accusing him of being a Death Eater to wanting to disrupt whatever foundation that Rufus was trying to build. His intentions toward the Marriage Law were nothing but nefarious. None of his actions were heroic or genuinely pure. They simply were not his own. He was acting outside his own accord, and whoever was pulling the strings was dead set on obtaining Hermione for their own glorified gain. Harry wasn't going to allow Draco to take her. A marriage between them would end in either a bitter divorce, or worse.

"You can count that bastard out." was Ron's ultimate reply. "Whatever he thinks he's doing, he has one thing coming to him."

"And what is that?" asked his sister curiously.

"Hermione won't be the one to submit to him," he said through a mouthful of food. He had gathered as much as he could manage, thinking it would sooth the young witch. "He'll be the one to fall to his knees first."

Hermione noticed the sly smirk that stretched across his face and she couldn't help return it. Her boys had entertained their more than generous plays if Draco were to obtain her as a wife. None of them were pretty. Each of them grew more grotesque than the last and she had to stop them before the images got too macabre.

They were only trying to cheer her up by projecting their protectiveness. Not that she didn't appreciate it; she just couldn't stand the thought of being tied to the evil little git for the rest of her life. She would rather die a horrible death to be honest then face one hour of being connected to him in any way.

"I believe you're absolutely right, Ronald." said Hermione, giggling. "I just hope whoever it is has more admirable table manners than you. Please close your mouth, or you'll capture more than just flies."

Hermione reached over and wiped his mouth with a napkin before settling into a nice pastry.

Ron's cheeks flushed with embarrassment but he didn't seem to understand exactly what she was talking about. It was still quite early for him in his defense. Hermione argued with him for a full twenty minutes about the importance of starting the day off right, which included getting a decent amount of sleep and eating right. That was something he could do without question, he had countered and proceeded to stuff his face full of food even after Mrs. Weasley came back from gardening and placed several skillets on the stove.

Oh, yes. Whoever she was paired off better know the difference between a fork and knife, otherwise the marriage was going to be a somber one.

All in all, she hoped ruefully as the rest of the house woke and came down for breakfast that whoever was picked for her was out of honor and not because he was compelled to do it.

If anything, that was all she really asked.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope this chapter met your standards. It's about 6:30 in the morning, and I've had several cups of coffee. It's edited, or as much as it can be at this point. I wanted to get it published before I tucked in for the morning. I hope y'all enjoy! I'll go back later and flesh it out more, but other than that, I am out.

Goodnight! :)

 **Note:** Has been edited. Any mistakes found at this point is due to the fact I'm not perfect and I can't catch every little furbaby that hides in the text.

-Carolare Scarletus


	3. The Encounter

As always, enjoy.

* * *

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Three

The Encounter

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

* * *

*.-"-.*

No words are more bittersweet

Than that of the voice

That fell through the flames.

*.-"-.*

* * *

The sound of rattling hangings was deafening. As the Trio made their way down the cramped aisle of the Express, the turbulence of the speedy getaway became too great. It was Hermione who couldn't keep her feet firmly planted on the floor. Hermione lurched unceremoniously to the window, her small hands coming to rest on the stainless glass. She found her composure, looked behind her, and carried on as if nothing happened. Someone was watching. She remained unaware. When she was finally thrown to the floor, it was not Ron or Harry that caught her. It was Draco Malfoy.

Upon arrival he had begun his search. His grey eyes combed every clique until he was able to find the witch of his endless nights. He had been watching her from the moment he saw her on the platform. She had looked so compelling even then with her wind swept hair and scared eyes. Though his emotions and actions had not been entirely his, he knew that it was her and couldn't help drone everything out just so he could take as much as her in. Granger was his obsession, his dirty little secret that was held captive inside his dreams. For years he's watched her, and what a bloody tear she turned out to be! So vulnerable, so promising. If it had not been for her aptitude for growth and exploration he would have given up years ago. But that wasn't the case. He longed for her. Longed to be next to her, to stand in the same proximity of her all to assuage some beast that would be never be sedated. She was a drug, and he was addicted. For the first time in months, he felt completely at ease.

His hands slid against her arms, committing the smoothness of them to memory. Time was of the essence and he was sure that she would push him off her at any moment. So, he chose to enjoy the connection between them. She was so soft, so velvety smooth. He shuddered involuntarily despite his revelations. Through his quick exploration, he felt her body react adversely to his tender touches. And it pained him.

He could feel her quick, heady breath. It fanned over him like a soothing wind, and came to downpour the scorching heat that rose to his skin.

"Granger," he purred rather enthusiastically, though he didn't mean to. He wanted to feel her fear as it washed over her. "I would hold onto the wall more carefully if I were you. Wouldn't want you tumbling off the train before we had the chance to arrive at Hogwarts, now would we?"

Hermione gave him a seething glare. Her hair jolted as if exposed wire and her eyes lit up with fuming rage. Yes, he was the last person she wanted to see and he was bathing in the fact that she openly hated him.

 _Oh, yes, sweetness. Ignite that fire._

He loved sparking it. Seeing the animosity in her eyes was the driving force in which he fed off. Every time he thought about her in an intimate way the first thing that came to mind was the fierce glare and furrowed brow and her freckles, beautiful face and lightly beige skin as well. The thing that set him over the edge was imaging what kind of expression and glow she would give them as he found release through his own selfish desire to possess her. From all possible angles and positions, he wanted to devour the little witch as he drove in the notion that she was his and only his. What a dip she would be…

Just as his hands were about to splay across her lower back, she jerked away, regaining some composure as her two knights came out of nowhere and spoke their condolences. The two of them came up, wands pointed haphazardly at him. With a bored expression, he turned and welcomed their threatening stances and weapons of choice. If it were not for the fact that they were underage and they were on a very dangerous express then he would have accepted their silent requirement for a duel.

"If I were you, Malfoy," said Harry, seething, "I would get the fuck away from her before we knocked you back to last July."

Draco turned and narrowed his eyes. As always, the two dolts were there to save the princess. His hands tightened into fists. He would be ready for any attack that they decided to send his way.

"Verbal threats, Potter?" A thin eyebrow rose far too high up his forehead.

The Half-blood smirked. "Quite the opposite, really. A promise if you don't step away and let us pass."

"I am sure that you are more than capable of keeping that promise, too. Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood for your little petty threats, as I will call them. I want to speak to Granger. Now leave."

Hermione didn't seem the least bit concerned that the Pureblood wanted to buy a moment of her time. In fact, she sighed and motioned for them to leave, mouthing something that he didn't care to place. He had an inkling, though. She was ensuring that she would be safe and they needn't worry about her.

As if he would do anything to sully her perfect little world. He would have enough time soon to do just that. For now, he just wanted to talk.

Draco watched as Potter and Weasley walked away, leaving him alone with their little princess. Slowly, his eyes travelled back to her and he couldn't help to secretly explode with triumph. She was nervous. Her eyes darted every which way, refusing to land on him. Something about it made him wonder if she had heard the news. Obviously, she did. He knew that she had wanted to find a way out of the Marriage law and he was happy that she had finally come to terms with it.

"If this has nothing to do with Prefect duties then you can forget about it, Malfoy." she seethed angrily as soon as they were out of earshot.

Well, she wasn't a subtle little thing at all.

Draco slowly turned and blinked. How dare she even speak to her with such violent rage! Had she no respect as to whom she was talking to?

Apparently not.

Instead of branding her with sin, he decided to indulge his sinister side.

"Granger," he started a bit too happily," would you care to join me in my compartment. That way we can talk in a more private setting?"

"I would rather not."

"Why is that?" he seethed. "Afraid I might do something to harm you?"

"Yes," her words spoke the truth even if her voice wavered. "I want witnesses just in case you decide to do something regretful."

Draco stepped in front of her, relishing in the waves of nervousness and fear that washed off her body. He looked at her, tilted his head and studied the way her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. Gods, she was filthy. Her blood, her background, but he couldn't get over the way it felt to be this close to her and know that it was only a matter of time before the Mudblood was his. This crazy obsession with her was only the beginning; soon, everyone would know that he owned her. Not as a bride, but as a slave. Even if his children were considered Half-Bloods, he would still feel compassion for them. He could care less about that, especially when their mother was so exquisite. If he could not have her, he would see to it that no one else did.

"I see that this isn't going to be an easy conversation… from what I've gathered."

"And, what have you gathered, Malfoy?"

"I take it that you haven't found a way out," he said calmly. "How unfortunate. It seems to me that you had your little heart set on finding a way out of the Law."

She looked at him, licked her lips and said," I thought I had."

"Oh?" he urged. "Do tell."

But she didn't. She didn't break the way he had envisioned that she would. The witch remained calm and collected. As if the entire period of hysteria over the Law had never happened. The scene was still so fresh in his mind, and he wondered fleetingly where the Gryffindor who fawned over it had gone. He missed her dearly. Messing with her now was nothing but a bore. She remained calm, subtly vexed, but calm. Hardly the witch that he fell in love with. But, love could do remarkable things.

"I have accepted it." she told him smoothly. Hermione flicked her long hair off her shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "I couldn't find a way out of it, so I have accepted it."

"How fortunate." he murmured. "Tell me, Granger. Have you entertained the thought of who your husband may be?"

The question seemed to stun her but she was quick to compose herself.

"No, but even if I'm carted off with someone I don't like or love, as long as I'm not chained to you than I'm more than happy with the arrangement. Now, if you will excuse me…"

Hermione started down the aisle and Draco reached out and caught her by the elbow. She turned, glared at him for touching her so intimately but said nothing. They stood there for an extended amount of time before Draco decided to speak. Hermione listened dotingly.

"If you were my wife, Granger, I would not stand for such insolence. Walking away without a proper farewell to wizard is terrible manners."

"I said excuse me," she lifted a brow. She tried to pull away from him but his grip on her elbow was incredibly strong. "Do you honestly deserve more than that for all the horrible stuff you have put me through all these years? Do not delude yourself into thinking that you deserve respect when you haven't shown me anything of the sort."

"I would have hopes our association would have earned me some leniency."

"Someone as vile as you doesn't deserve leniency, Malfoy." she whispered softly. A flash of sympathy ran across her irises but other than that, there was no indication as to what the Muggleborn was thinking. Draco didn't know why, but he found the phenomenon perplexingly haunting. He did not take kindly to her words. "Now, as far as my husband is concerned, I don't care. I would rather have respect and age than youth and ruling. I am not a trophy or a prize to be won and I will not stand for anyone who doesn't treat me the way I should be treated. Something, I assure you, that you are incapable of doing."

"You think I would abuse my wife?" he seethed, gripping her arm harder, almost emphasizing the point that he would if the situation called for it. "You do not know abuse, Mudblood. I can take care of you but you continue to insist that you don't want to be with me. Even if that someone could easily be some old wizard, you test my very patience. An old wizard who is capable can abuse and neglect you. Do you honestly think anyone would be better than me? You would take age and wrinkles any day of the week than youth and muscles? Surely, you must be pulling my wand?"

She held back the laughter that bubbled deep inside her. From the way Draco was looking at her, it seemed to him that she found his little endearment of superiority amusing. She saw him as nothing more than some sick and twisted boy who didn't deserve a moment of her time. With no valuable attribute to admire, he was nothing more than the common dog.

Even if he was, she had absolutely no right to deride him the way she did. Directly or not, he took great offense to the witch's silent statement. The fact that she would have someone as old as a fucking fig lying on a hot summer's day was as laughable as what she found amusement in when he said he was the example of youth of strength. He wanted to know. He wanted to strip her down and force an answer out of her. Who was her ideal partner? If achievable, could he mold himself into the representation of her girlish dreams? He just had to know.

"Do tell me," his jaw was so tightly clenched that he feared that he would break it. The muscles in his arms were taut and it felt like every bit of fiber in his being was pulled to the point of being ripped. "Who is your ideal companion?"

It didn't take him by surprise that the witch never thought of who would be her ideal companion. Evidently, the thought never once crossed her mind and it took her several well placed minutes to reply, but in the way that he hoped. She didn't want to tell him, so she opted to remain silent as she tried again to press past him. He was not going to have it. He needed to know what she like if he hoped to make their marriage work. One thing was for sure, though. If his name was not on that piece of parchment in the letter that they would receive that night, he was going break down.

When Hermione looked at him, he could have sworn that his heart missed a beat. It fluttered uncomfortably in his chest just by the way she stripped him down to the simplest forms of rejected resemblance. He felt his body tense at the words that she breathed like a sullen lullaby.

Why did it have to be her?

"Anyone is better than you," she whispered. "Even some old prude with crooked teeth and boils. I would rather die than be stuck with you."

"Even Potter? Perhaps Weasley?"

"You know very well that neither of them is on the list!"

Draco's eyes darkened and he spoke the cruel, death-lidded words that tore from his heart. Although her precious knights hadn't been picked for the Law, he still felt the need to address their betrayal. An idiot could figure out by the way they looked at her that there was some deeper message underlying their friendship. They were both in love with her in one shape or form.

"It seems to me that they would be if they had the chance. They certainly would jump on the occasion if they could."

"What are you implying?" she asked softly.

"Anyone would be better than you as well, Mudblood. I'm willing to be bet that no one would want someone as filthy as you as their wife,"

Draco watched distraughtly as Hermione hurried down the aisle. Her feet paved way at the wooden floor as angry tears streamed down her lovely cheeks. In all her life, she never felt so vulnerable, so wronged. Although Malfoy was only trying to get a rise out of her, she couldn't help let the words resonate in her. She had let him break her, but before the Pureblood had the chance to catch her, she had pushed into another compartment and disappeared completely.

He stood there for quite some time, lost in thought.

Granger had always been the object of his fascination ever since running into her on the Express on their first trip to Hogwarts. Her bushy hair, bucked teeth, and exuberance was something to loath. As the years past, she grew into her body. Her hair began tamped and she had done something to permanently straighten her teeth. She was marvelous. She always has been. From the quirky little things she did whilst she read to the scandalized expressions she made when her wanker of friends disrupted her perfect world. Hermione was truly the manifestation of his desire and dreaded exploits.

He was torn between just letting her go and going after the hurt witch. As much as she had hurt him, he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her, no matter what he thought about her and felt of her. She was a worthless piece of garbage and that's all she will ever be. If that was true, why did he feel so guilty?

Draco stood there, fighting with the emotions that bubbled up inside him. He pressed his back against the wall of the train and let out a startled groan.

Why couldn't he have her as his wife?

* * *

A dull relief of rain poured down on them as they made their way through the plain terrain. The cadenced pace in which they stepped drowned out the noises that gathered around them. As they walked, the earth that would have bore to them squished uncomfortably underneath their feet, flooding their shoes with water and soaked their socks. Hermione fell behind the crowd. While her friends were engaged by the sudden interest in Quidditch and lessons, she was lost in the abyss that was her mind. She just couldn't stop reliving the conversation that she had with Malfoy and his atrocious of a statement about not wanting her as his wife. Not that she would be caught dead with someone as low and traditionalist to the core would want anything to do with her. Granted, she knew of his secret obsession. Anyone who had been stricken blind and death would still be able to sense his obsession. It only seemed to secrete out of every pore of his body, burn him like the scorching heart of fire, and smother him to the extent of desperate pleas. The man epitomized the very notion of possession of the mind. He exuded this profession exquisitely.

So, then, why couldn't she get over the fact that his words didn't matter? The more she put thought to it, the more she began to believe his awful words. His testimony was breathtakingly hurtful and struck her right to the very pit of her soul. She felt weakened by this epiphany and it could only be justified by his unrelenting attacks born from his irrational dislike for her. He loathed her very existence. It was very safe to say that he hated every cell of her body. From her unruly hair to her intellect, there wasn't a single centimeter left untouched and safe from his hatred. Whatever his obsession with her had to be accounted for and stopped. She wasn't going to let him haunt her, and even doubted whoever she was selected for would put up with his petty attempted to get into her knickers and harm her.

She really did hope that they had the decency to care for her, even a little. She would no doubt do the same, even under the circumstances they found themselves in.

Hermione leaned back in her seat and sighed.

"Something the matter, 'Mione?"

It was Ron. Concern shined in his eyes.

She shook her head, "Just thinking." As she said the words, Crookshanks leapt into her lap and started to purr. Of all her friends, he seemed to know her the most and his light brush of his coat against her arms was calming enough that she found herself lost in his attempt to assuage her. She needed to dig herself out of the hole that she created and looked forward to the bright future that she knew she had, even if that was with some wizard. "Had a good talk, then?"

Ron smiled, "Yeah. Harry reckons that I'll be able to try out for the team. You know, seize the opportunity and what have you."

"That's wonderful, Ron!" said the witch, her eyes lighting up. Although far from the undying Quidditch fan, she still supported her two best friends in everything that they did. Except cheating on their assignments and essays, of course. She had to put her foot down on that. Other than that, she was keen on showing her full support. "When are the tryouts?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Harry wants to wait a week or so before he even considers anyone trying out. With what happened with Sirius and Dumbledore…. I think he just wants to let things simmer down, if you know what I mean."

Sirius had been the closest thing to a family and unfortunately his estranged cousin had taken him from Harry.

"Of course," she murmured before switching the attention elsewhere. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Ron." Hermione smiled

He returned it. "You reckon?"

Excitedly, she nodded.

"Excellent," he smirked wildly. He leaned back in his chair, excitement and determination poured into his very body in great quantities. A fire renewed sparked within him and he appeared to be able to take on anything that stood in his way.

Truth be told, she didn't know enough about Quidditch to say if Ron was good enough to be picked. She still wanted to show her support, though. For the last several months, that was all she had gotten from them and it was time she returned it.

The Express lurched forward and completely stopped sometime after seven. Fully clothed and ready to go, the occupants of the Express exited in uniformed and hazardous groups. Rain pelted down upon them, spraying them with heavy water. If it were not for the water reflecting charm, the entire population would have been soaked head from toe. While some kindred spirits helped the first and second years, Hermione and Ron began their search for Harry. Unfortunately, Hermione had missed whatever little gathering that took place on the Express due to her Prefect duties. Ron hadn't been at all thrilled about it, either.

"He's Captain at least," he supposed as they walked up and down the length of the Express. "We were selected as Prefects last year, so."

"At least the position hasn't gone straight to his head."

Hermione continued to walk, leaving Ron to mule over what she just said. When he did, he caught right up to her but said nothing.

The two of them followed the crowed to the carriages where they were lucky enough to catch the one Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood was waiting for them.

They greeted them excitedly, and the pleasantries were exchanged with gratitude. The carriage lurched forward, and they were in route to the castle.

* * *

The silence was disturbing, but nothing was more disturbing the churning of his stomach as he laid their motionless, his eyes glossed almost pleadingly, the stench of blood pungent in the air. The figure that stood hovering above him had absolutely no remorse to what he had done, except that he had been overheard. With every inch of his degenerate heart and skin, he harbored such revolting hatred for the boy that lay at his feet. If it wasn't for his sickening penchant for being a fucking hero, Harry Potter wouldn't be in the mess that he was and Draco wouldn't have had the chance to repay a debt that he had longed to pay for several months.

He looked at him expressionlessly. He cared not for the boy. What he had inflicted had been born from his rage and his inability to control it. If it hadn't been for his father's incarceration, he wouldn't have bothered. But, he did. It did bother him and was one of things that could easily destroy him.

Draco stepped back and sneered.

His eyes glittered with satisfaction.

"You're where you belong now, Potter," he spat before kicking him hard in the side. "That's from my father. He sends his regards."

He sent another kick, this time to his lower stomach. The wizard didn't make a sound, but his eyes did appear to gloss over from the agony of not being able to defend himself and the sheer intensity of the pain that exploded in his abdomen. The Malfoy Heir stepped back and admired his work. A sly smile sprung to his lips. He was indeed an artist, but none more so than Potter was. He was the true masterpiece.

Draco let out a hard stream of breath. His angry was punctuated by the fact that Potter had done more than send his father to Azkaban, courteous of the Dark Lord. He was angry that he had heart his plans for Granger and what he would do when she was completely represented to him as his wife. Potter, of course, had hidden atop one of the luggage holder. The little bastard had weaseled his way into the compartment underneath his Invisibility Cloak, believing that he would fool him. Unfortunately for him, it did not. He saw right through it, metaphorically speaking. If it hadn't been for the gust of wind and the sound of luggage moving around above him, he wouldn't have noticed.

What he wanted to do to Granger was personal business and was not meant for anyone other than his closest mates to hear. Pany had been appalled but was bound by aristocratic oath not to say anything; Nott and Zabini on the other hand approved of his plan. If anyone dared to take her from him, they had another thing coming. He told them that there was a chance that she could be taken from him, and if she was, he would take vengeance into his own hands. He wasn't going to stand if someone tried to get in the way.

Turning on his heel, he exited the compartment and took a nostalgic stroll down the aisle. His thoughts were welcoming to the sensation that once enveloped him. As he walked, he could still feel Granger's close proximity as if he had been within her reach just seconds ago. Her accusing eyes, her wild brown hair, her softly freckled skin- oh, yes, she was exquisite and soon to be his. He bathed in the idea of having her for his own. To spend long, studious nights with and romping underneath the covered. Then, there were the darker images that came out to play, ones he hoped she would never dare elicit. She would be a good wife, and he would be a good husband in return.

He smiled at this.

Yes, he would be good if she would.

Draco continued down the aisle, came to the end, opened a door, and stepped into the dank revenue of the falling rain. He let out a refreshing sigh.

He looked around and welcomed the encased dark.

Hermione darted another nervous glance at the entrance to the Great Hall. While the students and staff poured into the graciously decorated Hall, the witch had been reduced to stolen glances and stretches. Harry had let to arrive and she was wondering where he might have gone off to. With no inkling as to where he might be, she began to worry. It was completely unlike him to not tell them, or at the very least assure that he would show up later. It was as if he hadn't gotten onto the Express at all at this point. Something was definitely wrong.

"Where do you think he is?" she asked Ginny as she settled down in her seat.

The red-haired witch looked around and shrugged. "Knowing him, he'll show up. Bathed in blood, perhaps.

"I hope not." Hermione mumbled. "That's the last thing I want to see today."

"What do you mean?"

The witch hesitated before she caught Ginny up to speed with what happened with Malfoy. Once she did, the girl's expression turned from ease confession to disturbed reluctance. Malfoy had acted out of the ordinary, which she agreed on. What she couldn't understand was why he was so obsessed with her, as Hermione had speculated as well.

"He knows he can't have you," Ginny took a sip of Pumpkin juice. During the interim, Dumbledore had went up to the podium and addressed the masses. It was short speech and supper had appeared shortly after. The girls were just beginning to dig into their meal when Ginny tossed the notion of Malfoy not being able to have her. Hermione agreed. "Whoever your future husband is, from what dad said, will be older. Draco just turned sixteen. There's no way he'll be able to be selected for you, so I don't understand why he's even bothering in the first place. If he didn't turn seventeen before the date stated, he will have to wait a year. To be honest, I hope he's stuck with Parkinson. God knows they are both more suited for one another."

That was certainly true. Draco had only turned sixteen just three months ago and wouldn't be qualified for the selection. It was his words that haunted her more than the actual guidelines did. The fact that he could provoke such strong invocations was disturbing to say the least. She hoped that it was out of her own concern that he seemed to be a bit more straightforward than usual. It wouldn't be the first time he tried to do uncomfortable thing to her like touch her skin and caress her body. She had had enough of that in the past to make her not want to engage in a wizard at all.

There was something distinguishably wrong with the Slytherin. Something had shifted inside him. Something was causing him to act out of the ordinary and reach to questionable means. Like asking who her choice of a husband would be and if he would be a one of the worthy bachelors, he pestered and pushed her into these predicaments. What Hermione couldn't decipher was what was causing such a change to take place.

As she sat back and thought, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and in stepped two discernable figures. One swept down the aisle as if following closely in pursuit of the other, who had been splattered with crimson across his face. His glasses sat slightly askew on his nose and his eyes were hardened with worried anger. His hands were balled up.

"Blood," Ginny breathed. "Why is he always covered in blood?"

Hermione did not answer.

Her focus was solely on the dark presence that followed Harry as he made his way down the aisles and over to the Gryffindor Table.

Professor Snape didn't even bother stop Harry on his commute to his seat at the head table. In fact, there was no evidence of contemplation that flickered across his face or eyes while his gaze racked over the Hall. His strides were perfectly matched with the progression of his soundless steps. He appeared to be gliding across the floor rather than taking measured, calculated steps to the head table. As he walked, his eyes did comb over the tables until they rested on hers. In that instance, they darkened and he looked away. He continued to walk until he made it to the table and sat down. He refused to look at anyone.

Hermione sat and studied his behavior. There was no mistake that they two had unfortunately crossed paths, but the witch couldn't bring herself to think that something had happened that would have caused such disturbing repercussions. Harry hadn't been provoked by the snarky professor who lived to torment and deride less than his idealistic beginnings and grandeur. Professor Snape was certainly the most despised, but she didn't see him as the potentially dangerous double agent of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Sure, he was rude, obnoxiously unforgiving and perhaps borderline cruel, but that wasn't what she saw when she was able to steal unnoticed glances at him. There was something about him that bothered her. Alright, more like befuddled her in the most perplexing sort of way. He was a mystery as much as he was an offense. She almost saw him as someone to admire. Almost.

Hermione didn't know what to think of the man.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked Harry.

The wizard sat down and pulled Hermione's untouched plate. Evidently, she had been saving it for him. He picked through the mass of food, grateful that she knew exactly what to pile upon his unspoken request. Once he took a sip of pumpkin juice, he said," Malfoy. I… I listened onto his conversation using my dad's cloak. He found me, paralyzed me, and struck me."

"How awful!" gasped Hermione, her eyes glimmering worriedly. "What did you hear?"

Harry looked momentarily bewildered. He obviously hadn't been expecting the question. She usually chastised him if he used his father's cloak for anything other than recreational purposes. Everything he thought was recreational was thought of barbaric and against the rules and regulations of the school and Wizarding World. So much for fun.

"Awful things," he told them but wouldn't elaborate on it. Hermione looked at him with furrowed brows, her eyes boring into him in the chance that he would break his resolve and tell her. He didn't. All she needed to know was that she didn't need to know and he would protect her.

From where they sat, they could see the professor's shuffling. Time had come, they believed. It was time that Hermione had been dreading since the end of the last term and denying for most of the summer holiday.

Those chosen would get their letter.

Those chosen would know of their fates.

* * *

 **A/N:** Phew! Finally! I'm sooo damn excited to publish this chapter. We are finally going to see how our soon to be husband and wife are going to react to the results of the selection :)

I've already planned several chapters ahead. Forgive me if these chapters are published too quickly or are repetitive. After the initial shock of the selection, things will die down. The couple will not get married right away and I don't even think they will consummate the marriage right away either ;) we will see! Whatever happens, Snape will realize it violated a part of the Law and he'll have no choice but to rectify the situation. (Cough, cough!)

Hope to see y'all soon!

-Carolare Scarletus


	4. The Reveal

As always, enjoy

 **A/N down below.**

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¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Four

The Reveal

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

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*.-"-.*

The watchful eye of the crying cry

Cannot drown out the wistful sigh

Of the enchanted maiden whom was destined to be

The savior to which would set it free

*.-"-.*

* * *

The Great Hall became suddenly quiet. If there were a pin to drop, it would shatter into a million distinguishable, haunting pieces and disrupt the very fabric of the gathered persons and apparitions. The air was tight. A pressure of great strength seemed to press down upon them as they continued to tuck into their suppers, unaware of the impending doom. His back pressed so tightly against the wooden chair that he could feel the distinct grooves and chamber of the ancestral art etched into the wood. His lips were pressed into a thin line while the refusal to meet anyone's questioning gaze was made evident. A coil of the most painful excursions tightened inside his chest just as his eyes swept over the room, capturing the intense swirl of auburn and dispersing brown. He cursed under his breath; he could feel her gaze, the curiosity palpable like the strongest elixir he has ever tasted.

Severus Snape was being watched.

By none other than Hermione Granger, the know-it-all of the century, the brains behind the bronze nonetheless, the witch had yet to let go of his her hold on him. He knew of all the literary names that she has gained over the years to which never struck him as nothing more than a foolish attempt by others to assign heroism. He could not stand the inquisitive look that she gave him. Even now as he sat like a darkly cloaked Prince, he could feel her lingering gaze as it settled upon him like some odd, penetrating disease. She had been watching when he arrived to the Hall with Potter, having finding him after Draco's fiasco and indirect victory in their spar. Technically it was Nymphadora Tonks who had found him. He had arrived to pick up the rubbage and clean up yet another mess he had undoubtedly sought.

The boy was a nuisance like the which he has ever seen. He couldn't understand his penchant for trouble. So much like his father was, he thought as his black eyes glittered with hatred. The resemblance between the two were astoundingly canny; what little grace that he got from his mother only came through in his eyes. Other than that, he loathed the boy. Always going around looking for trouble and running around like he owned the place. Little did he know that it was trouble that went around and found him? He had no inkling whatsoever.

The sick pleasure of it all was that he knew of the truth when it had constantly hit him aside the head. Potter was nothing more than a ploy, a chess piece in the scheme of the entire thing. As was he, Snape knew. The only accountable distinction that they shared was found in that little solemn lie presented to them by someone they had no choice but to trust. After this year, Potter would be on his own, and who would be there to save and guide him? Not him, he hoped with all his being. He couldn't provide any more than he had already given. If it was Dumbledore's wish, then so be it. But, until then, he was resigned to keep out of the boy's affairs.

The Potion's Master made use of the deathly silence. As always, he was left to his contemplations to assuage the burning desire to tear up the place. Aside from finding Draco and Potter, he abhorred such strong resilient hatred that he couldn't even control the deathly glare he sent to the students line of vision. He couldn't act on it of course. It would be considered rude and unorthodox for a man of his position to take his frustrations out on the student body. Not only that, he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than he already had. It was one thing to show up to supper with the entire body attending, it was another to show up late in the shadows of Potter and his arrogant spirit. He only hoped that he hadn't provoked too much of his future wife's attention. Even now, the idea of her becoming his wife was riddled with uneasiness. She was his student for the Gods' sake. Snape still couldn't believe that he was going to marry someone so utterly lost to the devotion of their own essential intelligence. No matter how compelling of a case Dumbledore had made it out to be, he was only doing as he asked. As he ever done, he was only serving another master in hopes of saving someone from the clutches of doom.

Miss Granger would have been chosen for some abusive bastard and undoubtedly would have killed her before the license of the affair was through. She was a Muggleborn, so thoughts such as these were not permitted by unlawful surrendering. He was only being fair to the girl who was about to give her entire future to him and in just a few short weeks give up her body and soul only to be given nothing. Nothing was better than abuse, he was sure. If anything, she would be grateful for saving her life. If not, she would learn. The Law didn't not serve to bind him to her and her to him; they only wanted an heir and after that, the two in question could go about their business as if nothing happened. They just had to raise the child until the date of their maturity came. After that, they would be free of worthless exchanges. Hopefully, things went accordingly and he could go about his own business without his wife thwarting them. He was a man of selfish desires, desires that did not include her.

Supper had long since been served, leaving only a large variety of desserts to be eaten. Instead of indulging in a sweet tooth he knew that he did not possess, he called for a tall class of ale and watched it as it magically appeared inside his chalice. Once it was poured, he raised the cup to his lips and took a long, hearty gulp of it, allowing the substance to run down his throat and sting it in its wake. Nothing was more refreshing than the harsh touch of alcohol. He was pleased.

He reclined back in his chair, nursing his ale. His dark eyes scanned the surrounding picture. He supposed he could introduce her to something, give her something that would authorize agreement between them. He never thought he would touch one of his own students, much less the little know-it-all. If anything, he just wanted to be able to do what he has always done all these years. He didn't need her to take that away from him. Fucking witches until compliancy was something he enjoyed and quite frequently too.

To the left of him, he could feel the Headmaster's eyes on him. He turned, nodded toward him and sent an apologetic flicker before going back for his second drink. Getting intoxicated had not been on his plan for the night, but what else could he do now that he was expected to attend the blasted Reveal. The students selected and involved with the Marriage Law, to most remained a secret, would learn in the coming weeks that they are to be married and forced into compliance of the Law. He dreaded the Wedding Night; he did not want to touch the witch even with a hundred foot pole. It was a good thing that his end of the bargain was not to be faithful to her; he was left to do whatever he damn well pleased whereas she was trapped to do his bidding.

He would never touch her.

That was a promise.

For some time, he remained like that. In the reclusive recess of his mind, he was able to find some solidarity in the great expanse of what was destined to come. He suspected that Miss Granger, formally going to be known by soon as Mrs. Snape was dealing with tonight's request in the opposite manner. She was a ticking time bomb, set to go off the moment it struck the wrong note. That note was set precisely when she discovered that he was her designated husband. To loath and to hate unto death do them apart. He didn't necessarily hate the girl, though. He harbored some animosity toward her, but he did not entirely hate her. Her presence was only annoying and persistently troublesome at best. Their marriage would no doubt be drawn into separate reclusion for both of them would have found luxury in other pursuits than with each other. He anticipated that their marriage, for however long it lasted, would be relatively quiet as well.

He never thought that he would marry. Lily Evans had been his one and only love, and nowadays he found the life of a celibate more deserving that ploughing into any available hole that he saw fit. He was not a handsome man by any means; his mind was more attractive than his looks would ever be, but that did not mean he didn't relief for his urges. It was his endowment that witches flocked to, anyway. Even if it was with a student, he never allowed his dreams to come away from him. Speaking of luxury, he didn't have it to begin with, or not as much as he would like, and even if he wanted to enjoy the peaceful life of marriage, he wouldn't be able to. A man such as himself was wanted by all. Metaphorically speaking, he was committed to a great number in individuals. His attention was always being grabbed and pulled every which way, giving him no time to recuperate. Their advances were disconcerting and obtrusively bothersome. He could never get the relief that he wanted. He hoped that Miss Granger would not be permitted to be as clingy as he found some of his company. A husband to be can only hope, after all.

The serving of desert came to a startling end, which was marked by Dumbledore's assent to the podium in which he addressed the audience after ever meal. A customary acceptance, but only Severus knew the reason behind the occasion.

The Revealing Ceremony was set to begin.

Those chosen to be thrown into an unwanted marriage would be escorted with the entire staff to a separate place far from the school grounds. There, each individual would be read the law and liberate before carted off to their assigned husband or wife. He knew only a few that would be attending the ceremony, and she was staring right at him.

Miss Granger had yet to cease the wandering of her eyes. He almost had the nerve to frown, but decided against it. He did not want her to know that he knew of her penetrative gazes, the look of anguish mixed with the predatory curiosity only known to brilliant minds. He was no stranger to them, but he did wish for her to stop her foolish little attempts to look at him. She was becoming quite the nuisance and they haven't even exchanged vows. Maybe he didn't read as deeply as he ought to have concerning marriage; if it was anything like the day and age, being married to the witch would be nothing short than a nightmare. Then again, she would still pale in comparison to the nightmares he has witnessed and suffered through.

His arm burned, but there was no time to address it. He was not being summoned, so he could write it off as his emotions getting the best of him.

He drew his attention to Dumbledore.

"Another year has come and gone and we welcome this new term marked with trepidation and worry. These are desperate times, and as such, desperate measures have been made to ensure the continuation of a selected few. As you all may know," Dumbledore's voice blossomed into a booming crescendo until it was the only thing that held the entire Hall together," a Law has been passed recently, stating that anyone of age has to adhere to the law no matter the circumstance. Unfortunately, it is set into stone and there is nothing that neither I nor the Professors of this establishment can do except support those who have been chosen. The Revealing Ceremony will be held in a location not too far from Hogwarts. I shall call those selected momentarily. Everyone else shall remain here or retire for the night."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. They shifted over to him.

 _A word,_ they seemed to ask.

 _As you wish_ , was his undying reply. He would very much like to know what that registered look was and if it had anything to do with him.

Of course it did. Why else would the Headmaster request his presence so close to announcing the pairings? Severus knew it had something to do with the witch chosen for him, or rather forcefully placed with him. He did things with purpose, he continued to remind himself. Purpose nonetheless, but with confining reason as well.

Severus stood swiftly to his feet, gathered his robes about him and walked over to where the Headmaster stood. He remained as far away as he possibly could be for he could not leave the Hall until announcing those who were chosen for the Ceremony. His blue eyes shifted to him as he made his way to his designated area. He stood just beside him and waited.

"What is it that you needed to speak to be about, Headmaster?" he asked slowly, drawing out every syllable as if to prolong the inevitable.

"Ah, Severus," the old wizard said as if he had been expecting his arrival. "There is something that I must discuss with you before we start."

"And that is?" he drawled.

"It is about your future wife." Dumbledore's eyes did that twinkling dance they usually did when he was up to mischief. "I am afraid that the Malfoy boy has found a way into The Selection."

"He is not of age." His eyes narrowing, wondering what a fool of a godchild was up to. If he planned to thwart what the Headmaster had painstakingly planned, then he had another thing coming. A warranted marriage or not, he was going to see it through to the best of his ability.

"I am aware." The Headmaster moved around the tight space between them before looking at him for support. "That is why I am asking you for permission to wait to call the names. I need a veil of protection set up so only those of age that have been chosen can enter. Mr. Malfoy believes with his father's approval that he can weasel his way into the ceremony and I cannot allow him to disrupt those involved. I am sure that your future wife is already feeling anxious enough as it is."

It was a strange thing for the old Headmaster to bring up his wife-to-be. As it is, he suspected that she was growing anxious. Only moments away from being called to gather and she just a second away of bursting into flames because of the intensity into which she adopted. Even then, she could feel the strength of her worry and they hadn't even been together as man and wife. Good, Gods, he either need a hard drink or needed to take his frustrations out on the students. Whichever sounded more promising, he supposed. Whatever helped the growing ache that was developing inside his head.

His resolve was seconds away from breaking as well. If there was one thing he could count on was his ability to keep face and act as nothing was troubling him.

He has done it for years.

"What is it, Severus?" asked the Headmaster. "You look dreadfully forlorn."

"Not so much forlorn, Headmaster," started the Potion's Master earnestly," that it is the ceremony. I fear that I am not anticipating it with gusto as much as you would have liked me to."

"I didn't expect as much." graved the older wizard. "It is not every day that a man comes across a young lady that he wishes to marry. With that said, it disheartens me so to force this upon the both of you but we have discussed the importance of this union. I trust that you will not fail me. These things… life, as it seems, there are some things that we simply cannot control but we can wish. I am certain that you can at least agree with my ideals, even if they do not fit your own."

"Headmaster," the belligerent Potion's Master began slowly," I may not agree with your ideals but that does not mean I am not in support of them. I will act accordingly, however…" He allowed his eyes to drift over to where his future wife sat. She had finally stopped accessing him like some ancient artifact to be exhumed. She was in for a rude awakening in a few hours; he did not take staring as nothing more than an offensive act. "…There are some concerns I wish to address."

Dumbledore seemed to follow his line of vision. In his eyes, he supposed he found the most beautiful and qualified witch to do his bidding. What deception of the ages; Miss Granger did not know what she was in for.

"What is it that concerns you?"

Severus' head turned slowly, his eyes a swirl of dark. "I wish to address the next night of your supplements. I assume you are running low and it has been a while since you have summoned me."

He knew that the Headmaster could see beneath the ploy of his words.

Granted, he was concerned about his welfare; it was true that he had yet to come to him for more potions. Their last meeting had been the night that he issued the blasted bargain and that he learned that he would be husband to the know-it-all witch with a penchant for trouble. He had been lived; as soon as business was finished with Dumbledore, he had stormed back to the dungeons, locked himself inside and blasted every useless item that his wand could touch. At the end of it all, he was sweating, shirtless and muscles he didn't know existed were aching with the excursion of his pitiful breakdown. He cleaned up and restored order to everything except his heart.

The Potion's Master was livid. After years of servitude, Dumbledore had dropped the biggest bombshell of his career and alliance that it seemed nearly impossible to keep everything bottled up as he normally did. Exercise and controlled practice couldn't hold a torch to what he had felt inside the moment he heard him utter her name. For years he has watched the witch. From the night she arrived, looking like a bottle brushed cat with large front teeth and freckles that stood out like stones in the stand. Her skin had been incredibly pale, as if she spent her entire life up until that point inside, ignoring the laws of nature and refusing to get even a single ray of sun. If that wasn't enough to annoy the living shit out him and raise his dead grandfather from the grave, it was her inquisitiveness. He had never met anyone with a penchant for knowledge.

Miss Granger showed such enthusiasm and poured her whole heart into whatever she wanted to accomplish. There was a kind of spark that he had never seen before as well, and as he dwelled on the endless possibilities that could arise from being paired with someone so intellectually stimulating, a darker presence reminded him of his alliance and he had to drop the entire thought.

"As for my supplements, I will see to it that I come to you when the urgency is met." Dumbledore said with a twinkling gleam in his eyes. "As far as our ideals go… I'm afraid that I cannot force you or even ask you to match them. I simply hope that you know what I plan is for the greater good. I did not wish to see Miss Granger, or anyone for that matter to be dueled with anyone that would harm her. As you know, only those who qualify can participate and that includes mention of any mistreatment or outlandish outburst."

Dumbledore gave him something to think about.

Severus concluded his conversation with the Headmaster. The Hall was now almost completely bare except for a few choice students. Most were Seventh years with the exception of Miss Granger and several close acquaintances of each student. The Potion's Master combed over them. If he was not in the same predicament as they were, he would not feel such troubling discourse resonate so deeply inside his own conscious. They were giving them their condolences.

Unfortunately for him, there was no one to share the woes of what was about to come.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Ginny asked her, trying to figure out where her line of vision was leading.

Hermione ignored her. Instead of feeding her greedy mind, she then explored the strange feeling that she had just been introduced to.

Someone was watching her, but she couldn't place a finger as to whom. It came to her when she least expected it. She had always had the sense of normalcy in regards to seeking what she wanted. Never has the want been so great. As she sat there, playing with her fork and pushing what little food she was able to eat, her eyes looked up and she discovered something startling.

Professor Snape was looking right at her.

"Oh, tell me!" the overenthusiastic witch begged. "What are you looking at?"

Hermione hissed something under her breath, turned and said," Will you calm down and leave me alone? I'm trying to think."

"About?"

She was seriously pissing her off, but she didn't tell her that. Instead, she looked back up to find that the smoldering eyes remained rested upon her person. They hadn't moved a single inch and whispered the promise of something more. She found herself lost the endless depths; for one moment that her eyes were locked with his, she found sanctum in the ordinary chalice of what his eyes could offer. They offered so much and took so little. Why she had not noticed them before, she wondered. They were absolutely beautiful…

…oh, who was she fooling? She abhorred the man with every ounce of her being and she was only playing with fire when she thought he could be any more than the snarky Potion's Master and the tyrant of her torment. Ever since arrival to Hogwarts, he had been behind every offered approval of ridicule; she didn't believe he had an appraising bone in his malnourished body to even give. The man was completely detestable and she wasn't the only who thought so.

But, still.

Ginny huffed beside her and made a grand show of making her discontent known. Hermione had grown to know the woes of the younger witch; she had been one of her closest friends for going on five years and became accustomed to her dramatic display of ailment. She would have to get over it.

The Muggleborn simply didn't want to talk.

She eventually took the stride of the lineage of her abhorrence was something not to try to test. Ever since the train ride she had been in the foulest of moods, and she only wished to cheer her up before the Reveal.

Ginny took a look around and made an audible noise in the back of her throat that resembled a small mouse.

The Hall was slowly becoming unoccupied. Students rose from their seats as if been dismissed by the Headmaster to their adjoining chambers. All the Houses were bounded for retirement, all except a select few, Hermione being among them. The strangest thing was, instead of twitching and fidgeting in her chair as some of the others were doing, she simply sat there, preoccupied by the remnants of her mind to pay any bit of attention to the world around her. She had accepted the cause; it was up to the others to follow in her footsteps and relinquish the final hold of their control and free will.

"You'll be alright, then?" she asked nervously. "Do you want me to stay a bit longer?"

The witch shook her head," There is no need, Ginny. I suspect Dumbledore will be at the podium shortly and I don't want to embarrass you when he calls you out."

"He wouldn't dare." huffed the indignant Gryffindor. "Besides, I want to-"

"I don't want your condolences, Ginny."

Well, she beat her to the punch. No doubt she was trying to come up with an excuse to give her when she refused to speak to the others. She was in her own conjunction and was presently determined to remain there until the time to depart came to the uninterrupted end.

Hermione had been at odds with the Marriage Law ever since discovering she couldn't get out of it. The Pureblood witch didn't know just how deep the seed had been planted until she paid witnessed to what it was causing her to become. She was overridden with any sensibilities and was brought quite figuratively to her knees. She was bowing down to the notion of marriage, something that she knew that the older witch would never do. A free induvial spirit indeed; she could not be silenced by a mere man she did not know, or any man for that matter. Which brought her the haunting conclusion…

…whoever had spoken to her previously had rattled her brain to the point of dalliance. Not precisely the word she would pick, but it was befitting because she could not let go of what they had said. Ginny was her best friend's sister, to which she had the right to say she was her sister as well. She knew things that only sisters could know, one of which involved the witch's emotions and practice. Whatever had been said was eating her up and all she could do is sit there and let it do its deed.

What she didn't expect to find was the reason behind her adoptive silence.

Ginny placed her arms on the table and leaned into them. "His eyes are something, aren't they?"

"Mmm… quite indeed," she said in agreement.

"Like something from a romance book?" she pushed, raising an eyebrow. "I bet there is more to the look in his eye…"

"Much more," Hermione said, and then turned to look at her. "What do you think he's hiding?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"There is something there, you know? Something incredibly deep and I can't help be drawn to it."

"Whatever you say, Hermione."

"Professor Snape has always been known to be an introvert. I wonder what is going through his mind…"

A wicked little grin appeared on her face as the witch slowly realized what she had just done. Her eyes widened, and a slight tinge blossomed across her cheeks. Aware of what her friend had pulled, an expression of deep loath became a permanent mark on her face. She scowled while Ginny rejoiced with triumphant laughter.

"I knew you were looking at someone!" she laughed. A few older Hufflepuffs walked by, taking a gander at the Gryffindor and riding her little episode as nothing more than a Lion thing. They continued on their way. "I just didn't know you were looking at Snape, though."

"Who's looking at Snape?" asked Ron, frowning with reprehensible exhaustion. "I bet that git is drowning in his own amusement seeing so many students in such misery. I bet he knew of this damn Law before Dumbledore did."

"I don't think that's the case, Ron," Harry said with indignant reservation. "Remember what I said? I was with Dumbledore for a night. He mentioned the Law then and something about Snape being involved. He didn't much about it."

"Reckon he was selected?" mused his best mate. Shaking his head, he said," Dumbledore must be barking mad to have Snape be selected. No one'll want to marry him. With his greasy hair, abnormally large nose and detestable personality it's enough to drive any witch away. Rich or not, he-"

"Will you put a lid to it, Ronald?" snapped Hermione as she stood and glared at the Pureblood wizard. "I've had enough of you three deriding him. I may not like him either, but I have enough sense not to dismiss him like a piece of rubbage. And, who knows? If it is true and Dumbledore did choose him to be selected, there must be a good reason for it. For protection or even a hidden plan, you can't just assume that he picked him without putting as much thought into it as he could. If he was, I'm sure that Dumbledore had someone in mind when he asked him to take part in the Law." Her eyes drifted to Harry, who sunk in his chair and refused to meet her eye.

Of course Snape would be asked to something that would eventually lead to the protection of Harry. He was a double agent, something the boys seemed to forget each and every time they spoke of his alliance. As a double agent, he listened to both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. He had to ensure that the evil of one didn't mix with the purity of another. She can't imagine just how hard that was, and wouldn't even dream to dwell on what his job entailed. All she knew was that she was sick of them deriding him and that she wished they could step into his shoes for even a moment just to see what he saw through his own eyes. Then they would have no reservations about holding the idea that he was beneath them.

It was they who were less than him.

* * *

Draco had his arms crossed over his chest.

He stood on the perimeter of the room. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini had accompanied him and were his constant supporters in the time of great need. He was watching the Mudblood from afar, engaging her reactions, wondering what was about her that made his heart clench in uncontrolled woe and his mind tumble like a weed in the desert.

Granger was troubled. After years of watching her, he knew the signs as much as he knew the back of his hand. What he didn't know was what. What was causing such agony?

"He's looking at you, Draco."

The Pureblood turned to find his Godfather standing with Dumbledore. They had taken the space at the other side of the Hall and were whispering about something that clearly didn't pertain to him.

Whatever they were discussing, he cared not. His main focus was on the witch.

"I care not, Blaise. He is always watching me."

True to his word, his Godfather was always keeping an eye on him. Even now as he traced the shadows of the Mudblood's body, he could not held feeling his prickling eyes on him.

Never did he think he would see the day when he would finally have her in his hands. The little bitch would finally be his to use and abuse in the way that he dreamed. If she refused, of course, punishment would be issued. If not, she would see only the loving and caring side of him that he reserved exclusively for her. He would be faithful and he would expect the same thing from her as well. An infidelity charm would be given to both of them. It would ensure that their vows were kept and that their marriage was nothing but a happy one.

He reeled in the satisfaction of what marriage would be like for him. He knew he was not of age, but he felt confident enough that his father was able to grant his wish of being paired with the witch. He needn't worry about that, so he didn't give it a single thought.

That was until his Godfather excused himself from Dumbledore's presences and strolled over to him with the intent of shutting him out.

"Draco, a word?" he asked as soon as he stopped within acceptance distance of his person.

He felt Theo and Blaise stiffen beside him but nodded.

The young wizard motioned for his mates to leave him. They did without question. As soon as they were out of ear shot, Snape got right down to business.

"I am aware of what you plan on doing, Draco." drawled the devilish Master skillfully. "I must say, I do not know whether I should be proud or mortified. You know you are not of age, yet you choose to test the boundaries of your father's influence and connections. I am afraid that you are wrong and have mistaken not only the Minster of Magic, but Dumbledore and myself as fools."

"To which you are," he immediately agreed. "I am aware I am not of age, Godfather, but who is to say that I can be stopped?" Draco pushed himself off the wall and walked up to him. Although the Potion's Master towered over him and he had a good foot on him, he felt irrevocably superior. Half-Bloods were nothing compared to Purebloods, after all. "Are you going to award me with you words, Godfather? Think that perhaps if you talked to me that I would relent? I am afraid you are wrong. I will not relent until I have her and there is nothing you can do about it."

Snape seemed to take what he said to heart. He looked into his eyes and smirked at the familiar smoldering acceptance that his words were always known to provoke. He cared not that he hurt his feelings and that he would inevitable go and destroy every blasted thing that he ever came to care about; he only harbored feelings toward himself and the witch that would soon be his bride.

Draco looked up at him and smirked. Yes, what a significant moment that would be. Something sparked inside of him, and he knew that his Godfather saw it.

Hermione in the throes of ecstasy with her head thrown back and his finger tangled in the mass of hair. He imagined himself pounding into her sweet, willing body as his bollocks slapped against her arse. What a sight that was but it couldn't compare to all the delicious little things he planned to do to her. She would become his personal sex slave. As any man would, Snape was drawn to the idea of dominating a witch in that way. Draco's smirk widened.

"I can see it in your eyes, Godfather and do not try to deny it. You would love to dominant the little Mudblood and see her suffer at your hands. However, you cannot. Permit me the pleasure of recounting you of our wedding night. I am sure you would love to know all the juicy little details after I defi-"

It was then that Snape raised his hand and gripped the boy's throat. He spluttered, his windpipe collapsing underneath the pressure of his precious Godfather's hand. Slowly, as if deliberately, he began to suffocate him. If persuaded by his own gratification or an unseen force, Snape did not know. Anything to shut his fucking mouth up once and for all. As he clawed at his outstretched hand, Snape closed in and whispered," You dare not mock me, boy." He seethed with unadulterated wrath. "You may have been able to use your petty influence on your father, but it will not work on me. I do not wish to do the things I have seen in your mind and I would remind you that what you are planning to do is not only illegal but immoral as well. And, you call yourself a man. You are nothing more than a boy in my eyes and I would damn well remind you of that."

Snape removed his hand from his throat, eyeing the bruise that began to form as blood surged through the damaged vessels of his throat and filling his body once again with nourishment. If he had acted upon his morbid thoughts, he would have killed him. The strongest of forces held him back, however.

"Miss Granger is my student and I would appreciate it if you kept your vile little thoughts from other's reaches." He spat in finality. "I will see to it that your father hears about this in due course. For now, be gone. The Reveal is beginning and you and your little friends are not permitted to attend."

It was as if an invisible hand had shot out and wrapped around Draco's torso. He was pulled away from the wall from which he stood gasping for air and escorted inelegantly toward the entrance to the Hall.

Snape watched with seething rage as his Godson was finally thrown out. As soon as he saw to his departure, he looked away from the mess that he almost created and walked to back to the front table in a flare of billowing robes and midnight blue.

* * *

Dumbledore stood at the podium once again, the expression on his face grave. One of his worst fears had finally come to light, and that was risking the lives and future of his students. His heart gave out; his face remained fairly placed, but it did nothing to hide the poisonous rage. The whole world seemed to come crashing down upon him. Turmoil the likes of which he never knew existed ignited inside of him. Severus was aware of this torment; he lived it every day.

His eyes glimmered in the illusion of moonlight.

The Reveal has come.

"As I am pleased to see all of you in my company, I cannot say that it is entirely true to my heart." He told them with a slight nod. "We are here not of our own choice, but the decision of the Ministry. As I am sure you all know, the Marriage Law was put into consideration some time last year but was passed just last month. Those whose birthdays fell on or before the first of September were placed on a temporary waiting list while those whose birthdays fell after were allowed to proceed with the marriage. I understand that this is hard for you all and I wish there was something that I could have done to stop it but laws are laws. We all have to abide by them.

"The time of the Reveal has come, and I ask all of you who stand to witness with me the powers of the unseen and uncontrollable force. I have gathered you all here today to support you all and the future that has been unfortunately chosen for you. We are to depart in precisely ten minutes. We shall all gather together outside the gates and travel as one."

A wave of sadness washed over them and some of the students let out a release of chattered reluctance at the end to their Headmaster's acclamation. It might as well be a funeral for they really were marching off to their demise.

It was clear to all the Professors and Headmaster that the Law had taken its toll on them. Their exchange of shared feelings did not come unnoticed; they too felt the woes of having to see their students be carted off with individuals that they knew would not treat them right.

The majority of them were selected because of their standing, whether that is financial or political standing. Unbeknownst to them, several greedy witches and wizard had found attraction in their means of comfort; they would not love them as they deserved, and it was almost a guarantee that they would be abused for their involvement with their soon to be husband and wives. Snape had thought this over ever since reading into the Marriage Law and after discovering its origin and it was safe to assume that Dumbledore had been right to authorize his acceptance and permitted his selection. Miss Granger no doubt would have been traded off to the foulest of males, one who would have given her feelings a single second of thought before thrusting themselves at her. She would have fought, would have been pursued into slavery and finally broken before the damned war finally started.

She would have been a broken spirit.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I absolutely love how Hermione stood up for Snape even though she has no idea what is to come. I believe it steamed from the connection that has yet to be made.

What about what Severus did in exchange? (Faints). They're not even together and I can see the potential of this story! They are going to clash so much that I'm actually looking forward to their future exchanges!

I want to make a note that some things will be AU (small things- I do not remember if they knew if he was a double agent or not, and I wanted to address that since he works for the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, then he must be an agent for both sides).


	5. The Emblem

**A/N down below.**

As always, enjoy.

* * *

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Five

The Emblem

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

* * *

*.-"-.*

Beware of her call

that is how she traps

Her inspiring eyes see all

Thy art not safe from her meddling hand.

Fate, hail to the kind Mistresses

And the string attached to thy finger

That is the unbreakable bond.

*.-"-.*

* * *

An echoing sigh reverberated splendidly back toward her. The gross chill of the night held her, and as she marched to the beat of her own step, the young witch let go of one fear while adopting another. They were being escorted down a long, endless tunnel with no chances of finding what lay on the other side. Hermione walked with a girl whose hair was ruffled into a knotted mess; evidently, she had been dreading this moment just as much as she was, if not longer. It never occurred to her that perhaps she wasn't the only one not prepared to give their lives in order to satisfy a Law and agreement of their chosen spouse; she knew she was just on the threshold of breaking down, but she held herself together the best she could. She would not let anyone see her cry; she had done enough of that.

As they walked down to the Forbidden Forest and away from the refuge of Hogwarts, she became very aware that something was not right. The unsettling feeling befell her as the leaved beneath her feet crunched unfavorably; she became one with uncertainty and a pawn in her own demonized reunion. She looked around, engaging the other students silently and without as much as a word. They appeared frightened, which was only perpetuated by the fact that she was willowing in her own self-absorbed confidence.

All around them the darkness seemed to press against them until only a breath of consolation was given and the oxygen had been taken from the surrounding stream. Hermione felt suffocated; with every breath, it became harder to calm her nerves and trust that everything would be alright and that she wasn't going to step and plummet to her certain death. It took quite a bit of convincing on her part but she managed to pull through. After all, it had taken months to accept this fate and she wasn't about to destroy any chances of commitment. She couldn't afford it anyway.

Hermione couldn't let go of the gripping fear that something was about to go terribly wrong. Her heart was racing wildly inside of her chest, galloping a thousand miles and on the course of total failure. She could sense something wasn't right even when they were just a stone throw away from their destination. She fed on this feeling as if devoured her.

From the moment she came away from the scared hall of Hogwarts, she began to believe the sixth sense of wonder, or paralyzing fear, and of the unknown. No trouble journey harked by her terrible calls as perfectly as this night did so tenderly. It was as if it were calling out to her in a dream-like trance, dripping in the inkwell of some long told scripture. She felt a sudden pull, an urge to plummet into it sweet, inviting depths. As she swayed back and forth, she was reminded so hauntingly of what her purpose was and why she was being led to her certain doom. Marching like soldiers in formation, they followed obediently behind their captors, perfectly aware of what the world they would soon face.

She has never known true fear. Not until the single breath that escaped her lips and fanned over her face. Her eyes wide, her heart thrumming like wild stallions in her chest, her skin suffocating her in a disgusting layer of sweat. Her breathing came out in short, collapsing gasps. Even the chill that crawled down her spine was enough to immobilize her. It was when her blood boiled and shot down to the path of destruction that she came to terms with the idea. Oh, yes. Fear never has been so gripping. She felt the very fabric of her world being torn off its hinged and casted away only to be swallowed by something so omniscient that the very notion was able to set off a string of unfiltered seizures. Solemn images appeared before her. Their ghastly treachery was a constant reminder. These brutal interactions were birthed in the Great Hall. They only proved that even the most seemingly stable of minds were just as weak to the crumbling reality. As they marched, the imaged became clearer until it was that she saw and all that she could use as an escape.

She was not ready for this. She was not ready to be carted off, married to an unworthy man who, Ron so eloquently put, didn't deserve her. Bless his kind heart; he thought of her so highly, it made her tremble with the distant memory. Leave it to his forgotten presence to bring some solace in her moment of need. She held onto one of the only lifelines she was able to hide.

She was just as frightened as they were.

One girl seemed to be trembling beneath her cloak.

Hermione turned and looked at her sympathetically. She was older than she was, about seventeen with lovely light strawberry blonde hair and stunning forest green eyes. Her skin was fair and free from any blemishes. Even as the light dwindled and they stopped to await further instructions, Hermione couldn't help gawk at her stunning beauty. In a place like this where no seemingly calm assurance could reach, the young witch was able to find it in the strangest of idols.

The girl knew that someone was watching her. As soon as she figured it out, she looked around and caught her eye. Nervously, she smiled before frowning and looking away. Hermione wished to she could express how she was feeling regardless if it conflicted with anything and everything that she believed it, she still wanted some sort of companionship before it was entirely too late. Harry and Ron could only provide so much, and she had taken just about every second of time confronting Ginny about what was to come. Now, she only had herself to rely on and that scared her beyond compare.

She remained still and said nothing as her inner torment had come to overtake her.

Dumbledore moved into the line of the fire brought by the tip of everyone's wands. The solemn expression upon his face was visible through what little light they were able to accumulate around them. Hermione could see the workings of a hard explanation and wished she could provide him with a hand of comfort of his own. Alas, she could not; she couldn't even comfort herself.

"Now that we all have made it," he bellowed, the wind picking up and ruffling their robes in a premature pit of action of trepidation of foreboding," I am required to inform you what is to be expected from this point forward."

"From this point on, your actions will not be your own," he warned with an alluringly deep voice," your thoughts will only bring out the worst of you and whatever reservations you had about this light will only come into fruition. I ask you to discard any misplaced feelings and conceal your emotion for they are useless where we are about to venture. I cannot express my anguish or my absolute disheartened resentment, but I trust that you all can handle what is to come. You are to be partnered up soon. As for now, wait for my instructions."

Hermione pulled away from the group as soon as his speech concluded. She didn't think she could handle being among them.

To be expected to perform like some puppet in preparation before the Selection… what in the world was the Headmaster thinking? What were they going to face that would require them to remove all emotion, all feeling and thought and become, quite literally, a malleable source for control? What ploy was he purposely acting upon that needed them to be below what they were known to be? Hermione did not know.

While she faced the possibility of losing more than just her freedom, a figure emerged from the darkness and stood before her, calm and collected. As if none of this bothered them at all. She sensed them but said nothing as she tried to wrap her mind around the whole situation. A part of her despised all that had not been selected, including her Professors. Once thought too old to be chosen, she narrowed it down to several of them that were quite a bit older than the required age, one of which being Professor Trelawney, to which she quickly tossed; no one in their right state of mind would want to paired with her and the last Professor anyone would want to be with would be Professor Snape.

She drew in a breath in remembrance to the isolated stare he had given her during supper. Drawing another breath in and furrowing her brows in deep concentration, Hermione thought back to the time that felt like it occurred days ago rather than an hour or two. Professor Snape had looked so torn, so beside himself with worry and unresolved anguish that it took a higher stance to what she had been feeling for the last several months. Of course Professor Snape would be worried if he had been chosen; anyone in their right mind would be doused in the self-conviction deployed by the inevitable curse if they even thought that had any chance of being saved.

Hermione pushed back the intrusive thoughts. Heartache soon flooded into her heart and filled her veins. She just didn't want to think about someone else's transpiring downfall; she had only herself to worry about.

"No, I won't do it!" a voiced yelled from the midst of students. Everyone turned around as a terrified shriek enveloped them. It came from a small group of Hufflepuffs. A girl slid to the ground, sobbing. "I can't do this!"

Some accompanying Professors and students stopped and gathered around her, Hermione amongst them. She watched as the walls of her foundation crumbled and her entire world and perspective fell right in front of her. Reality struck her like a broom going a thousand miles an hour. A penetrating sting pierced her heart; she felt for the girl, and she told her so. The girl didn't want to see compliance; she continued to cry until Hermione finally dropped down to the ground with her and whispered something to her that immediately drew in light and cheered her up. The girl looked at her, the tears of her sadness drying faster than anything she has ever seen. She was cured.

Hermione stood. Her eyes flickered over to the girl as she stood up as well and was welcomed by her league of friends. They gave her an appreciative nod to which she returned with a small smile and nod in return.

She began to move, but peace did not follow her for long.

"How can you be so sure?" someone asked, her voice wavering.

She looked up to find the older witch she had been observing staring at her. Her eyes were wide and wet, as if she finally broke down and cried. Just like the Hufflepuff girl that she helped, she saw that she was also having a hard time with everything that was going on. She had finally approached her, her fists clenched at her sides, ready to attack. Hermione took note of it; she moved to the pocket of her robe and prepared herself for it. She looked at her understandingly, but she was quick to reprimand her petty attempt to make her feel better.

"We're about to be given away," she said brokenly, "does that mean anything to you?"

Of course it did.

"Yes." she said rather mutely. It was obviously a sensitive subject for them all. "But, that shouldn't mean I have to indulge in the finer tastes of emotions. I simply accepted what is about to take place."

Hermione moved away from her, determined to get away from her when the opportunity presented and opened itself to her. Before she could even move, the girl stopped her again, this time her tears had been unleashed and she was crying with inconsolably dilemma.

"It's such a shame that we have to go through this," the girl that she chose to indulge whimpered in a small, pitiful voice. "What do you think they'll do with us once we're alone with them?"

"Hopefully nothing."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, again her resolve on the verge of breaking. If the girl didn't look broken, it was then when realization seemed to encompass her. "We're about to be wedded to men we hardly know."

"I am aware," murmured the Muggleborn softly. "Don't you think I've given it thought? Of course I have, but there is no reason for me to willow in my own sorrow."

"You think you're brave enough to face the man whose name you'll share?" she asked rather hauntingly. "Think you'll be able to fend him off he chooses to engage you? Rape doesn't protect us. So long as we don't go and sully our husbands name by defiling our bodies with another, they could give a damn about if they hurt us. All we can offer them is a clean home, warm meals and three orifices to defile."

Hermione motioned to move but the girl whipped her hand out and clasped her around the wrist. She looked down at her pale hand then back at her. Her forest green eyes glistened with aversion, which was brought forth from their conflicting notions of what their impending marriage would mean.

It was clear that she wanted to know what her take on it was.

"Brave?" she questioned with mirth after a few seconds escaped them. Shaking her head, Hermione said," Not brave. Any fool can be brave. It's those whose bravery is outshined by their lack of better judgement is brought a better position of self-reliance. You ought to think of yourself on a higher pedestal; if all we are is something to be defiled, then you have no motive to live, to prosper. Is that the kind of life you want? Without fight, what else do you have? "

Granted, there was nothing that the girl said was untrue; Hermione had given it much thought and had long since come to the conclusion if she were to have to engage the wizard and husband of choice, there was no way she would go down without a fight. They would have to break her down to a malleable form before she willingly gave up her body. The spirit can be broken; the body battered and broken until unrecognition, but her heart would forever adhere to a stronger beat. Her husband was just going to have to try as hard as he could to tear her down, she knew that.

But, what if it was all her bravado speaking?

How could she possibly be so calm and collected while others suffered a worsened state of mind? In all possession, their willingness to believe that only bad could of these unions? Was she that oblivious, that emotionless that she had tossed out every possibly notion that her marriage could result in the expanded field of those who would be abused and used? How could she be so inconsiderate and assume that her marriage would be one of the more peaceful ones? Selfish as it was, she still held strong to her belief that although it might not be peaceful, it might turn into something worth fighting for. Whether it was her life that was at stake or the life of another, then so be it.

Something seemed to hit the girl. Her eyes widened with as renewed tears glistened upon her cheeks as recognition set in. Hermione could feel her eyes combing over her, taking in the length and fine texture of her hair to the chosen attire that she wore. It was only then that she realized herself that the girl was a Slytherin and it was had been a mistake to engage her in any way. Indeed, the ties between Gryffindors and Slytherins was broken and the relationship temperamental at best. She hoped that she would not put on display her loath and abhorrence for her; she couldn't take being ridiculed once more.

"You're that Granger girl, aren't you?" she asked in a low whisper. It was only then that Hermione realized what she said had probably the most profound effect on the older witch and that it was her words that gave her away. Though, there were not many people who didn't know who she was or what she represented… "Of course they would pick you. You're brilliant, but a Mudblood. Why they want to ensure that you're kept safe is beyond me. A Pureblood such as myself I can see, but you?" She shook her head, eyes narrowing. "I hope whoever was picked for you is cruel and unforgiving because that's all you deserve you little bitch!"

"Do you think it's wise for you to express such animosity toward me when it was your own upbringing that brought this horror upon you?"

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief before fluttering into a despicable expression brought up by her words; Hermione flinched involuntarily when her hand came up in the act of violence. She prepared herself for a resounding slap, but none came.

When she felt it was safe, she opened her eyes to find that the girl's hand was being gripped by slender fingers, connecting to a dark figure to which stood in close proximity to her.

Professor Snape looked ready to kill.

His black eyes glowered at the girl as a nasty expression graced his features. Black lanky hair swung down over his beautifully aristocratic features, clinging onto his alabaster skin like a thin, unwelcomed blanket as the humidity struck its horrible hand. The man glittered almost as if chosen by the stars, but that wasn't what had Hermione in such a haze. The venomous bite in the tone in which he spoke to her was not missed, marked by the perfected promise and unspoken worry of the Head of Slytherin could only provoke. His voice promised more than they could ever comply.

"Miss Wayford," he confronted her with a smooth, silky caress," as admirable as your actions are, I cannot condone your choice of outlet. Perhaps if it was under different circumstances… I would happily oblige your darker nature, but seeing that Miss Granger had done nothing to warrant such treatment, I have to say to calm yourself down and walk away."

Hermione watched as the girl broke down and cried. Professor did not lend a single hand to help nor said anything remotely comforting as he passed her over to another group where she knew would be safe. His back was turned and his stature far greater than his own good; Hermione looked upon him with worry and questionable dejection. If the man had a heart, surely, it would have called out by now.

Professor Snape slowly turned back toward her, his black eyes glittering. Never in her life has she paid witness to such a storm; the murky depth of his eyes almost seemed to mask an inevitable collision of phenomenon proportions. The very breath of the earth rattled her to her very core and pressed discerningly against her knees. Hermione buckled and an arm whipped out, catching her around her midriff and bringing her upward. Startled and terrified to no end, she dared not look into the eyes of her rescuer.

"T-thank you," she said, utterly lost for words.

Fortunately for her, trying to get Professor Snape to talk was a lot like pulling teeth. Or easier, since he never had anything nice to say. What came out of his mouth was never pleasant to begin with and would only sink to reason that what he had to say would be nothing short that corrosive.

"Miss Granger," he greeted her slowly, drawing out her name like a curse rather than the name of her ancestors," I would advise you to watch where you are stepping. The grounds are… quite uneven, it would seem. I would not want to see you trip over your own feet."

A frown instantly formed on her face. She had been absolutely right.

With a smile, she looked up at him, making sure that her hair brushed against the underside of his oily chin and tickled his nose.

This sparked something troublesome and daringly dark inside his eyes.

"Of course, Professor. How silly of me not to remember how uneven the terrain is!" The cheerfulness in her voice was dutifully noted by the Potion's Master. "While we're at it, I'll make sure not to anger one of your students or say anything rude or sarcastic while we are travelling. I wouldn't want their feelings to be hurt and their name and status dragged in the mud."

After some time and consideration, the Potion's Master said in a low, dangerous voice," I see that you are not happy with what my student said."

"What gave you that idea?"

"I do not know, Miss Granger," he quirked an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. Out of amusement, she could not tell. "Perhaps, I should speak to her. Although, I do not see why I should."

"Pray tell me, why shouldn't you?" she asked challengingly.

"She has done nothing wrong."

"She was about to slap me!"

"Perhaps it was guided by your reluctance to keep your horribly large mouth shut," he snarled, his eyes darkening. "So quick to throw your guilt and mistaken ideals to another. Do tell me, why is that?'

When she did not provide him an answer, he took the opportunity to provide one for her. "Because you are an insufferable little chit." He hissed, finally relinquishing six years of animosity. Her eyes grew wide with his sudden appeal and would only remain open as he listed off her offenses and concluded his debauchery with a convincing hiss. Suddenly, he leaned in and whispered," Twenty points from Gryffindor for being a little know-it-all and angering my student."

She remained silent because knew if she didn't, the punishment would be far worse. His eyes rolled over her features and a pleasant sort of grin found its way on his handsomely aged face.

With a snarl and a dramatic sweep of his robes, he was gone.

* * *

Severus stormed away before his inner demon could land a single digit on the infuriating girl. With all her knowledge, she should be considered a sin as well as a well-placed temptation of a prize. In all his years he never met anyone quite like Hermione Granger. Even as the group reconvened, his thoughts were displaced.

Oh, but if she knew.

Then, would she truly be repentant of her criminal thoughts?

* * *

Hermione had become lost for words, but chose not to question her Professor's abrupt departure. There would be a time when she would be able to dwell on his strange demeanor. Feeling that it was no importance, she turned and followed behind the line of nervous witches and wizard, Dumbledore leading the way and playing as triumphant satire but found that she he couldn't quite get the way he acted out of her mind. His words swam around her mind like a staggering background noise that would not cease. The interaction played handsomely as all sound and sight was lost to her. The only thing she could focus on was the incident and what deeper meaning it could hold.

In all the time that had kept them apart then pulled them back together she has never seen him act in manner that he had. His patience once unparalleled had been tested with great rivalry; the way he had held his composure would have made any normal companion shrivel up and recoil, but not her. She was like no known rival, and she wouldn't allow such insolence from someone she deeply and secretly admired to make her feel anything less than what she thought and felt herself. He could hate her for the rest of her days and that simple fact would neither change nor damper her spirit.

Sometime after venturing to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the group accompanied by several of their Professors and the Headmaster embarked on a twenty minute journey North-West to a small enclosure. There, placed as inconspicuously as anything would in the dead of night, was a small figure. No one had to guess what the figure represented as they all gasped followed by a startling response by the Transfiguration Professor herself.

"Why, I never!" she said, outraged. "Why don't they make it even more obvious that they are heading for their potential doom?" The last bit was murmured under her breath and as a patron of the Professor; Hermione had heard the entire exclamation. She, too, was not impressed.

Hermione followed the line of vision provided by her peers, coming to the same startling conclusion.

Hidden in the debris of the forest floor was a figurine of two idols, one a man and the other a woman in what would be their wedding day attire. A floral encrusted crown adorned the woman's head and a stunning veil was placed over her head, shielding her from her husband to be. The man was represented in the same mysterious manner; his face was covered by his hand, which was raise in such a way that prevented anyone from seeing what his profile actually looked like. They looked morbid in their representation; both of them carved into the vase somberly as if to pay respect to what they once had and that was freedom. Caught in the hand of marriage, the two completely different shadows fell into the line of dread and absolute tenacity.

Tendrils of grass had coiled its way up the woman's body, spreading over her arms and linkage of weed. The air shifted considerably, the leaves rustling loudly in the wind. Hermione stared at the emblem of matrimony, a ghostly ache running through her and bringing her toward the physical brink of knowledge. If there was something so disturbing yet beautiful, she couldn't say she has seen it. Her gaze dropped to the gathered patience of their hands as one seemed to move over the other, caring for it as a man normally would. Quickly, she looked up, focusing her energy on the woman's eyes, connecting with her in a way that was told to be forbidden. And, how correct her superiors were when she realized her mistake. All too quickly, she was caught.

Then the woman began to turn. Her eyes flashed open, dark, foreboding, completely unbecoming to her tragic beauty. The man in which she was held by did not move, but rather crumbled due to her immense body and stature. The woman turned and stared at the fallen warrior with no remorse to be found. She moved her hand and flicked her long, flowing hair off her shoulder so it lay seamlessly down her back. Once accomplished, she looked all around her, taking in her surroundings the best she could until she caught Hermione's eye and her eyes in return turned darker.

A shattering dull scream pierced her eyes and Hermione had no choice but to draw her hands to her ears in an attempt to muffle the wrenching sound.

"I see your future, girl," she told her softly, her voice like that of a calm, unmoving wind. Airy, and unpleasantly dark. Her eyes were locked on her. Her veil blew in the undying wind as she raised her hands to disturb the collection of flowers that rimmed her head. A curly fell from her artistic hairstyle, falling in front of her face.

"Who are you," she demanded earnestly.

"That of which that has been waiting for a soul like yours," the statue whispered, coming around to seek what was on her person. Hermione watched her.

"Who are you?" This time, it was not a demand. She commanded her to tell her identity.

The woman stopped moving for a brief moment, her eyes rolling over her form. Hermione didn't know where she could trust her, but it soon disappeared the second she peered into her eyes. She was lost to the depth, the feel of falling that she soon found herself up close and personal with the statue. She had somehow moved and was now standing a hair's touch away from her. She raised her hand, and Hermione almost dropped to the ground and the weight of it as it came to rest on top of her head. Her eyes poured into hers; again, searching for some key function that only she could relate. Inside, she found what she was looking for and she became pleased in the features.

"Oh, yes. You will make good on that word."

"What are you talking about?"

"Marriage is not supposed to be forced." She told her as if reminding her of the rules of engagement. "It is supposed to be binding. I fear for you, young girl. But, I also am eager."

"Eager for what?" her voice breaking, desperate to know what she would say. What was she eager about? A statue that could move and see the future couldn't possibly know what was to come of her, right?

"Eager to see where destiny takes you," she breathed, her stone eyes almost glistening. A scraping noise sounded before her. The statue moved, her arms gathering before her. "It is not every day I see a soul like yours, marked for fate. It is in the tale of your blood and the upkeep of your past that you are destined to thrive. I see terrible struggle as well as a promising future. The shattering glass and staining of blood, oh yes. I see many struggles ahead of you, but none so frightening than what is about to take place within. Many obstacles await you, girl. But, you must not lose what you are destined to do and that is to have faith. Have faith and remember not to worry."

Hermione was struggling to keep her composure within reasonable reach. What this inanimate statue was telling her was beyond the span of her intellectual imagination. For a fifteen year-old girl, she supposed that the extravagance of it was entirely powerful; a part of her felt for Harry. For someone as young as they were and to have this bombshell dropped on them on the brink of discovery. How can anyone expect for them to accomplish something so monumental? How could she even begin to imagine the trials that she was about to face?

"I can sense your turmoil." She said, her face softening. The stone from which she was made moved effortlessly and she was able to truly look at her with appreciative and respectable interface that she had come to show. "I can see your distress, your projective worry. Fear not, however. I have chosen you for a reason. I have seen your potential to guide this poor soul into the light and I am not about to give up on a terrified body of a creature. I will protect and guide you. You have my word on The River Styx."

A glow encompassed them and she was suddenly thrusted into the swirl of warmth emanating from her ghostly symbol. Hermione let out a startling gasps when gentle, careful hands fell upon her body and lifted up her soul and heart. She felt a settling difference, one that would carry her down and onward for the remainder of the night. Hermione fell back to earth, found herself sprawled on the ground, several people looking at her like she was crazy. Out of all the attending persons, she would not have been drawn to the lure of the statue. She was much stronger than that, but no human could know all their weaknesses.

Unlike them, she could see past the glamour draped over the human realm, even if her eyes didn't allow her. As she walked around, the very fabric in which they lived their lives was devoured as a world of tall and muscular men who sat perched on pedicels emerged. Even as the sun began to set, she could see what looked like faint outlines of wings. Through the large quantity of paint smeared on the perfect surface, flesh pulsed and blood swam.

Had the whole thing been a hallucination? Was this to be expected once conflicted to jump right into the eyes of the immobile statue, the woman that, a moment ago, she could have sworn foretold her future?

She shuddered and looked back at the statue.

The sight of the woman was haunting; it was like she hadn't moved at all.

"Somber, isn't it?"

Hermione quickly turned to find a boy she had never before standing beside her. His dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight; he was as part of the night as any dweller of their mistress. The boy was strange to say the least.

He helped her up and turned towards her, his dark bangs falling over his eyes. He lifted a pale hand up to brush it off his forehead, but stopped suddenly.

Dropping his hand, the boy tilted his head and said," The Emblem."

"Pardon?"

"It is in the Emblem." He said without little to any explanation. "Hera's Diadem. She was the Goddess of Marriage and the Family, so it would only be fitting for them to choose a Portkey represented by the Goddess herself. Quite ingenious, yeah?"

Hermione slowly looked back to the statue and came to realize that the woman depicted looked quite familiar. If death's unkindly touch was giving her a clue or what, she looked upon it in favor. Her eyes roamed over the light veil. There was something depressing about the way she was looking down at her hands. He was right about one thing. Hera was the Goddess of Marriage and the Family, which only spurred her decision even more. Their little game to push the Law upon them was only just beginning; she would have to be careful from now on.

"You don't say." She whispered, looking at the Diadem with reservation. She hardly saw the appeal but humored him anyway.

"Curious as to why they chose it," he continued on, demurely. "Suppose we'll find out, eh?"

"Perhaps…" she muttered reluctantly, the statues' voice still ringing unnervingly in her ear.

"You heard her, didn't you?"

Hermione quickly turned to look at the boy, confirming what he supposed initial thought. His eyes seemed to connect with hers, searching for what she had seen, listening to what she had heard.

He tilted his head to one side, like a lateral line to the sky, and smiled. "You have."

She did not speak.

"That is very interesting…" he mused quietly, his eyes growing wide. "I have seen that Emblem before. She only speaks to women, of course."

"Then why did she speak to me?"

He slowly turned his head and considered the statue of the woman with her head drawn back to the position from whence it previous was. To him, it hadn't moved an inch. To Hermione, it might as well had grabbed her hand and taken her on a spell around the entire Castle. Her powerful motive was just that compelling. The boy turned back to her and shrugged without explanation. He walked away before she had the chance to say what she was going to say. Deciding that it wasn't worth his time, he left, allowing her to dwell on her thoughts and his intriguing questions. Hermione watched as he walked away, his retreating back becoming a permanent vice in her logic of thinking.

Who was this boy, and what was his deal? She couldn't let go of the gripping fear that pressed against her. He knew something, but he wasn't going to let her know. As she stood, watching him become one with the abyss of the night, she wondered. And those thoughts lead to a place that she knew she should not tread. Students began to gather around her. Hermione was left to toss the thoughts aside and listen as Dumbledore stood in the middle of the crowed and addressed them once again.

His blue, sorrowful eyes once again became the center of attraction and place where Hermione found refuge.

"I see we all have made it here," he observed, looking around at all his students as the showed their reproachful expressions. He returned it with a look of remorse. "As you have seen, our Portkey is gathering gift. A totem, an emblem to what is to come; it was not my wish or my doing to choose such a scandalous item, but alas I cannot choose the Portkey. We will have to make do with what we have. Now, before we depart to the location of the Selection, I must speak to you all.

"What you are about to face might be one of the most influential aspects of your young lives. You are about to embark on a journey that none of us," he gesture to himself and his staff," can help you with. Nonetheless, we assure you that we will do everything that we can to guide you. If there is any problem, anything at all, come to us immediately. We will try our hardest to sort out the problem. With that said, these are troubling times and I have no doubt in my mind that the Law and the recent occurrences have something to do with what Voldemort is planning. Absolutely no doubt at all."

A wave of nausea swept over them. After all these years, one would think they would have gotten used to their Headmaster speaking of the Dark Lord without preamble; he feared no one, of course but it still struck fear in the hearts of those who wasn't alive to see his first reign. Just as history repeats, he came back just to strike terror over the world. This time, he was making a grand gesture of it.

"The place we are about to intrude upon is location on ancient grounds to which we are about to infringe upon. That is, it is sacred land and should be treated as such. I warn you now that the beings occupying the land are not friend and could turn foe at a moment's decision. They should not be tested. They will try to ensnare you, but you must be vigilant and resist their call."

Murmurs slowly poured from every corner of the dense forest realm. It was as if the dwellers of the Forbidden Forest themselves were chiding the journey in which they were about to embark on. Gaea herself was forbidding the act, but Hera was pressuring them with promises even more forbidden to speak. There was no victory in any course they took; they were hopeless. Hermione looked around at all the attending students and staff and felt her heart drop to the bottom of her chest. Foolishly, she thought she was alone. But, that was not the case. Everyone else was just in the grip of unfortunate act as she.

She turned back around and continued to listen.

Dumbledore began to pace the area before them. Hermione pleaded for him to continue. She wanted so desperately to know what was going through his mind and if he had any source or plan for the road ahead.

What were these spirits? Are their presences essential for the selection? What if one of them tore down one of the students so badly that they had to be withdrawn? All these questions only gave birth to more.

"It is not in their nature to be generous when it comes to negation. Generosity is not their forthcoming. They will tear into you and you will wish that you had not been conscious to feel their ravenous claws."

Dumbledore left no word unspoken. He continued to stir their interest as well as their worry. He spoke of all the misfortune, the people who lost their lives to these creatures all for the sake of being foolish when they should have listened. At the sound of Zeus' striking blow from his truthful bolt, they were plucked from the earth and given to the hand of the statue and the dwellers of the land.

* * *

 **A/N:** I want to make one thing absolutely clear- This will not be another God/Goddess work and I am so dreadfully mad at my laptop that I see stars every time I think about how it failed me. It suddenly stopped working and like the IT Technician that I am not certified to be, I broke apart my laptop and played doctor with it. Note to self: Cosmetologist to not make good computer people :D

I had the perfect Emblem scene, and I recover it until around January. So, expected an updated scene as well as an more edited version of this chapter.

(Good news: I can recover it, though!)

(Bad news: Still pissed).

Ugh. -.-

-Carolare Scarletus


	6. The Ritual

_As always, enjoy_

* * *

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Six

The Ritual

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

* * *

*.-"-.*

 _A trumpet sounds_

 _Hark its warning blare_

 _As horrendous as the sigh_

 _Of a siren as she_

 _Lures thou astray_

*.-"-.*

* * *

They arrived on the banks of some enigmatic world and in the middle of an island. The shore was a sound lullaby. All around them, the song of a siren caused for questionable entry. As much as he tried to keep his thoughts at bay, he couldn't. Their steps were measured and precise; they did not move in any direction that they knew that would provoke any unwelcomed calls of clamored obscenities. It perpetuated everything that was wrong about what they were about to do. As darken the times, the inhabitants seemed to agree. The creatures of the land were fair and virally presidential, but do anything to disrespect them, they would find themselves hanging over the edge of a cliff or under a hundred feet of water before the sun had time to break over the horizon. They constantly reminded them of that. The surge of the ocean was their warning.

All around them, creatures of scaled malevolence appeared against the mist, their bright eyes shining like jewels in the sky. Their hair, damp with the salty water of their land, held such vibrancy that it was hard to pull away from their gracious beauty. Hermione found it hard to do such a thing. A warning call was placed, and their steps fell into incoordination. It wasn't until they were ushered away from the churning sea that they were able to break the spell that was placed upon them.

The wind whipped around them chaotically. Their cloaks and hair hissed in the rapidly churning air. The sensation of falling was grand; they delved sharply at every angle until finally they landed on solid ground, the scent of salt present in the thick, heavy air. As they found themselves, the landscape became clear, the clouds closing in an unconvincing veil above them. All their heads turned up to the skies, heaven above racing with energy as the Gods of some ancient world fought for control. Apollo was not anywhere in their sights, only Selene as her precious moon hung above them like a giant compass of mystical power.

It was the sort of scene would could easily get lost in.

The location to which they found themselves was a small, uninhabited island off Scotland. Hermione read somewhere of its mystical powers, of the natives of the land and how acrimonious they were with it. Having barely been disturbed since the beginning of time, the land was thought to be one of the many wonders of the world of magic. She could feel it course through her as if it was the most nature thing in the world. It felt very much like thousands of small sparks of electricity running through her all at once, only that instead of shocking her with its conduction, it penetrated her body and sent slivers of sparks that almost tickled as it ran through her.

Hermione's eyes drifted to the charming sea, and its deceptive inquiry. As the wind kicked up and they were transported to the location of their Headmaster's choosing, her vision began blurred, her stomach clenching up inside of her, and her hair lashing around her head like a thousand angry snakes, she became very aware of where they arrived. Where they so driven to get away that they would sink so low as to come here? She couldn't say, and she lost her thought as she joined the group and hurried on.

There was a certain lesson that Trelawny taught that had Hermione skeptical and terrified all at once. It had been about blood rituals, and how dangerous it was to partake in such acts. When two different proportions of the life substances were brought together, it connected the two involved far beyond capable comprehension. They felt for one another; their minds would slowly become adjusted and they would be able to communicate in such a way that their bodies and hearts would soon follow. There were many accounts from what she's been able to read up on of these extraordinary sacraments. The one she knew that they were about to partake in was not that kind of ritual. She feared for them all.

She remembered a conversation she overheard a student had with another just last year regarding the importance of blood in the potion that Professor Snape was teaching them. Blood was a powerful substance, the most intricate thing on the planet and to use it in the numerous ways that it can be reached was a profound accomplishment on any wizard's part. To think that the though was striking her now was compounded by the fact that she could recall one incident before where it would have come of use, and what followed soon afterwards. If being apparated out of Hogwarts' grounds and into deceit was anything to abide by, she could very well understand the reason behind their immediate withdrawal.

Dumbledore was trying to buy their safety.

Hermione looked through the elaborate setting and toward their Headmaster. His outline a huge mass against the painting to which they were stealthily imprinted on. She wondered what might be going through his mind in all this madness, and why he brought them to such a remote location. Stealing a look, she could make out little spectacles of Hogwarts as they were whipped into a tight tunnel and the air was immediately stripped from their lungs. What have ought to have been a quick succession turned into a resounding punishment. Apparation was an awful thing.

In one way or another, even his power was notwithstanding against the almost tyrant clutches of the Ministry. Around the United Kingdom, and even the world, this law has been repelled and secretly provoked the integrity of the Law under the false forces that they believed would save them. No one, she knew, was safe; as she observed, she was conflicted with the idea that this abominable decree will ever be demolished.

One by one they treaded the rocky terrain, and she couldn't help wonder about where they were.

Their formation was closely monitored and every few steps, Hermione found herself losing her balance on the uneven pavement of the land. In the far distance, they could see an outpost in the thinly lit secure region. A circle of brush and debris came into view. They came into formation around it.

Dumbledore brought them to an entrance of a cave. With a quick succession of his wand, what little water that clung to their clothing evaporated and a radiate warmth befell them. This serenity was a blanket in which to feel secured about what they were about to do. He then turned toward one of the walls, his hand moving in front of him a grandness that Hermione found oddly curious. Within seconds of raising his hands, his fingers played the cracks like small strings. Even from where she stood, she could make out the faint outline of one of his hands and made a concrete etch of what it looked like. His hand was slowly turning back, and she thought back to what Harry said about it when he had been saw him before his arrival to The Burrow.

"Let us seek passage!" he regaled in a booming voice, asking the wall of the cave opened up for them. Feeling the rugged surface with his fingertips, he drew as intricate of lines as she could remember and once he was done, the wall shook and a burst of light came forth from his greeting. The cracks flared up and within moments a room was revealed to them. With slim columns that branched out in grand rows, a large sacramental circle carved into the floor of the room. Dressed in the darkest extravagance, Hermione could see why he chose such a place to perform the ritual.

The room was adorned with large boulders, natural sparkling lights that played on their eyes. Everywhere she looked she was met with jagged overhanging elements that with even the softest of flicks could send the entire chandelier of rocks and pointed sculptures falling and shattering down upon them. The ceiling was a far cry from their visible reach; Hermione had to squint to see even the smallest of details, all of which more horrifying that the last. Small The fall would be terrifying as well as exhilarating in its discovery. Florescent lights flickered among them, tiny little acknowledgements synchronized together to mesmerize and to enchant. Forest green and jade crystals polished with hundreds of thousands of years of treatment lay for the taking at one of the posts. Sapphire lights laced with purple and pink trickled into their line of vision, and Hermione found herself momentarily impaired by the spectacle that was this cave.

As often as beautiful things do, their guise was a mask of deception. Though, it had yet to be revealed to her.

The group marched further into the room; one by one their leader took them up a flight of heavy stairs, its railing made of lively ivy and moss and a mixture of unique leaves. With each step up the imperial steps, blossoms awakened and a chorus of noises met their ears. Running her hands through the patches, she found that quite liked the touch of the variations, the sounds of the water flowing freely in the landscape, and even the cerebral calls that came from the tongues of the natives.

And, that's when she realized that something was wrong.

As she had been walking, Dumbledore had been trying to eliminate any darken awareness that might find its way in her vulnerable being.

"I must warn you all now," Dumbledore's words seemed to carry down the opulent cave as he gathered them in front of a rot ironed gate seemingly made of pure coal. He eyed the surrounding features for the briefest of moments before his discursive sight flickered back to his audience." that the natives of this land will try to seduce you with their words. It is up to each and every one of you to ignore their calls. Whatever you do, you must stay strong and concentrate on nothing but the tunnel ahead."

Dumbledore had made his instructions very clear. It was only then that Hermione could concentrate long enough to dissolve the fragmented guise that had fallen over her eyes. The cave still held some grandness, but its true nature had been revealed to her through her mentor's words. She made her way around the room, circling the overly extravagant spring in the middle of the cave that had manifested itself out of now where. Her resolve fallen, she looked up to the heavens, and that's when she saw them.

Darkened figures that had to be at least eleven feet tall and all dressed in the same commemorative black robes stood with their hoods drawn around their faces. They were a purposefully horrific contrast to the once enchanting palace in which they found themselves bewitched by. From what she could tell, they had been the ones to cast the unwelcoming veil that hid their world; there were no florid lights, no hypnotizing fragrances that beguiled them or water springs that looked far too deep to swim. There was only dankness plagued with disease.

A deathly shriek enveloped them.

They were sounding a warning to anyone that would listen, Hermione knew. She couldn't pinpoint the exact location, but the merfolk of the land was closely related to the merfolk at Hogwarts. Their native cousins, and all the more frightening and territorial.

To have brought to such a place, what was the Headmaster thinking? Why couldn't they just be given to their spouses in the comfort of their school? To feel the last remaining remnants of peace before the storm hit? Hermione couldn't justify his actions; she merely went along with them like an unwilling servant.

Hermione followed slowly behind the group, the Headmaster's warning floating around sparingly inside her head. She had listened as carefully as one ought to, but somehow the words had been lost during its journey. She registered nothing and everything at the same time. As they ventured toward the entrance of the tunnel, their arrival to the location drawing to an imminent close, she grew weak. She fell for their calls.

One by one the sentinels of the room began to speak. One voice flowed into another until it appeared that they were all speaking in the same native voice that she had grown accustomed to.

There was something about the way that they called that made it next to impossible to ignore. Upon arrival to the strange land, the hint was clear…

…They were not to submit themselves to whatever sweet calling that the natives would try to lure them in with. Hermione, of course, could not resist. And that would inevitably be her downfall.

From the furthest reaches, they began to sing. Their tune was splendid as it was simple, and it paved away at her already fragile mind and opened up a whole new world of old-fashioned musing. The Muggleborn swayed enviously to one side and then the other, listening impatiently. Through the dark cave, she could make out odd shapes, all the while listening to what the disembodied voice had to offer. Their mouths opened up in perfect harmonization. They now had their arms folded before them in their sleeves and seemed to all be looking directly at her.

" _Such a pretty girl."_

" _Yes, such a dazzling little witch."_

" _What a shame she'll be sullied._

" _What a bright, honorable future now tainted."_

A disgusting feeling washed over her. Hermione suddenly felt spoiled, touched wrongly by the siren's words.

Hermione released a breathy sigh.

Their fingertip danced across the jagged walls of her chest, the only thing that reminded her that she was alive and that she wasn't dreaming. She felt every entryway, stepped into ever cavern and touched every travesty. Nothing made her feel more aware than skimming her fingers across the wet juncture of the walls. With every step, the structure seemed to steal a breath from. She felt her lungs give way as her body shut down. She was dying. That had to be it.

Never in her life has she felt such exhilarating, yet defeating feelings.

Her sighs carried toward the only light that reached her.

Suddenly, as if coming from a distant place in the back of her mind, a voice called out to her.

 _You must collect yourself,_ the voice told her.

This muse penetrated the heavy haze created by the cave. Suddenly, she could see clearly and hear without the inhibitions of the creatures that settled the world. Floored, she blinked a couple of times before regaining her momentum. As soon as she did, she found herself on the reaches of the group. The student from before looked directly at her before averting his gaze. His eyes hidden beneath the curtain of hair, he had witnessed her moment of symbolic weakness. She only had a second to capture it before she would stumble into the unknown. They had arrived at a secluded outpost of the cave, one where candles had been lit and the corresponding light brightened the atrium. Stoned pillars kept her leveled, a simple attribute she hadn't known she was missing until she took in the room. In one corner stood a blackened door, in the middle a basin with identical torches for its audience.

Hermione looked around her, caught by her own desperation to alleviate her tormented nerves. She was hyper aware of her chest rising and falling with gasping breaths, the space closing around her again, but this time more persistently. Every ounce of blood began to rush to one pivotal spot in her body and her head felt that it would explode.

She looked toward their masked intruders. They had not moved an inch since they arrived.

Had she imagined the whole thing?

Was her mind playing yet another trick on her?

The Muggleborn couldn't say as she whipped her head around in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the feeling of complete hopelessness.

A hand brushed over her shoulder and she came to find that her Head looking at her with concern marred with sympathy.

She looked quite worried about the prospects of this night's ritual.

Once they all had settled among the cold, dank room, Dumbledore waved his hand over the basin before him and became without ceremony that would very well change their lives. Deep inside his unyielding spirt sat a sympathetic ail. One that tried to reach out, but was hoisted back by a peculiar hand and words that threatened to break him down and tear him apart. The basin flickered as if in signaling for the turmoil that conflicted in his being; as emotionally invested as he thought he was, nothing could have prepared him, or his students, for what was to come now.

It was a feeling that Hermione knew all too well. The comfort lay in the meaningless conception that was empathy.

Why the preconceived notion was blaring its unwanted head now was a conundrum to her. While the alter was set up for their use, Hermione took another glance around the room, steading herself with the meaningless task of gauging her fellow students' reactions.

If the purpose of the Marriage Law was to protect those who might fall victim to Lord Voldemort's tyrant hand, then why bring them exclusively out of the way to ensure that the ritual is made and that their spouses are introduced without severe consequences? Surely, he would found out? Unless, that is, the Ministry didn't want him to.

"Now that we have gathered here together, and made it in one piece there are a few rights that I must perform before I am able to hand you off to your rightful partners." Dumbledore's voice seemed to bounce off the walls in an ugly tune. It came back to them just as defying, and just as atrociously. That was the moment turned darkly serious. "I must admit to you that the matter of this occasion is not rightfully so. It is with my deepest regret that we must succumb to the law administered by the Ministry to protect those who may be at a high risk of expulsion and danger. Tried as I might, even I could not stall the outcome of this night, even by a few months. Please accept my deepest apologies because I fear that I have failed you."

Murmurs arose at the sincere words of their Headmaster. A few of the girls in the crowd began to sob, and Professor McGonagall comforted them to the best of her ability. Even Professors Sprout and Flitwick, to which Hermione hadn't know of their presence among the crowd, were gathered around their students in a silence prayer of remorse.

"It has come to pass that the selection must take place. This time tomorrow, the right of this ritual will be complete and there will be no turning back. I assume each and every one of you understand the duties that fall upon your shoulders. Some of you might find it too much to bear, but know that we will do everything in our power to ensure the transition from on way of living to another goes as smoothly as possible and provide the care that you may require later. There may not be a way out of this now, but know that there may come a time where this law if banished and that your lives may be yours to take in the end. Until then, we are just as imprisoned by the law as you are. With that said, we may begin.

"I have gathered you here in the space between lands to usher upon you the declaration of protection that will serve you until the day you may no longer need it. As the names are read of, I ask you to provide the creatures of this land on trophy of gratitude and a promise in exchange for their protection."

Hermione's brow's furrowed.

A wave of worry swept over her as she attempted to take in the cave. The walls trembled beneath her gaze, as if a second away from collapsing. She would face death without fear before she faced the image of her new husband.

As a basin filled with an ominous substance that began to glow the instant it touched the surface. While Dumbledore prepared whatever ritual that was to take place, Hermione found herself thinking about what she wanted out of this law and the marriage that seemed impossible to avoid now.

Did she want sympathy? Respect?

It was hard to say when a thousand seemingly respectable favors were swirling persistently around in her head. Fiddling with the idea, her eyes were drawn to those around her as she tried to gauge their reactions to what their Headmaster said.

The girl she had been saved from earlier had closed her eyes, and was now murmuring softly underneath her breath as if begging whoever would listen. With all honesty, they all wanted a marriage that would work, even for students as young as they were. This drove Hermione to ask the creatures of the land for something she knew was not as easily forgiven. It may very well provoke them rather than aid in her transition into this new life. Whatever protection she could get, she was willing to accept it.

" _What is that you want from us, girl?"_ they asked out of nowhere. One voice with the knowledge of many. She could hardly concentrate on what she wanted to ask for when it spoke again, this time more demanding.

She let out a startled gasp, looking to the void of the cave as it was illuminated with the faint light of the travelling candles and basin.

Nothing stood before her, but she knew that they were close, listening to her request as they fabricated their own in return.

"I…I wish for strength."

" _You have that, child."_

"Courage then," she quipped. Having been sorted into Gryffindor did little for her ego. The need to feel that she belonged in the house despite the countless examples of her leading attribute was slowly gnawing on her insides.

" _You have more than proven that. Ask for something else."_ Came the disembodied voice.

As Hermione searched, she found herself lost. And she couldn't ask for anything that the spirits would even entertain to provide her.

* * *

Severus' eyes bore into the back of her head with the upmost outpost of frustration. Motley of emotions coursed through him and like a storm it could compare to just how tremendously careless she had acted. He watched her from afar. The brittle remains of his resolve breaking like a twig as he tried to pinpoint the exact cause of what he had witnessed. He allowed himself to act on some of the more impatient ones, reflecting on what the hidden desire that lay lifelessly within his being. He very much would like to strangle the damn girl because of her idiocy. In all his years of teaching, he has never come across someone so blatantly stupid and arrogant. To not have protected herself, much less _listen_ , she would not have fainted and the Head of her House would not be fussing over her. The girl had been vulnerable, which made him curious to the reason behind the drop of her walls. She perceived not to have been affected by the Emblem at all, but he knew. No one who could knock down walls with the simple gesture of their hand could have been that easily swayed. Which lead him to believe she had been drawn to it for a reason and the woman so rightfully named had been her charlatan.

The girl was supposed to be reliable, but at this rate, he found himself losing any hope he had held onto. His proceeding marriage to her was drawing near, and only became a fragmented reality the moment they set foot into a cave-like structure. The torches were perched high above them, casting an eerie beam of light down upon them. Severus felt their warmth, but became quickly drawn back to the cold that had preceded it.

He knew all about Hera. She worked in very mysterious ways, and liked to meddle in things she ought to leave alone.

The girl should have tried better not to have become unhinged by the Goddess' trivial pursuits.

A kind of crawling sensation cascaded down his back and up again. He did not know what to make of it, however. All he knew was that she could do well to remember an earlier lesson during third year about Emblems and they held the same power as mermaids when the situation given in the right circumstances. They drew anyone willing to listen to them, which made him even angrier. It seemed like his future wife was more stupid than he could have possibly imagined. Nevertheless, with his reluctant understanding, everyone was affected in his or her own way.

Even him.

He had come to witness some strange things under its spell. The tough bonds that he had faced were slowly drifting away and it only took half his energy at this point to relinquish the rest of its hold. The Potion's Master allowed the most absurd thoughts reign over him. It was one thing for everyone else to expect something out him, but when his own mind tried to pull away from him, he could not help but feel some sort of detachment. He found that he could not break free or escape that which had attached it to him.

A deep part of him felt obligated to take McGonagall's place; he was to be her future husband, after all, and it would become his duty to ensure her safety once they wedded. However, he could not. He could not sink so low as to show any sort of favoritism or affection for the girl. Everything he was doing was wrong. She was his student and he would make sure that title remind to the end of his days. Loyalty and trust would not come from him; he was not a one-woman man. He would most definitely make sure she learned that. Even the domination that he had come to perfect.

A girl like Granger would be interesting to break. He never thought of his students in any fashion, but if the agreement led to them having to be intimate he just might reconsider. As the male in the situation, he had the right to partake from her body. As a teacher, he cared for her, he supposed. As a man, he cared not. The girl would only be another body he spilled his seed into.

She looked at him, seeming to know somewhat of what Dumbledore had announced that he would do. He gave her any indication as to what that was. With a dip of his chin, he pressed on. The girl recovered spectacularly and found some consultation in a boy he knew he has never seen. Whoever he was, he kept a special eye on him. He would not have to worry, then.

The girl was not his problem.

' _Why do you say that, boy?_ ' asked a disembodied voice. _'Is she that below you that she does not deserve a smidge of your protection?'_

Severus knew not if it was the Emblem or it was his imagination. There never came a time where his mind played tricks on him, so he took the latter and looked to where she laid, McGonagall trying to rouse her up with worried express. It had not moved in the slightest. He truly was going bonkers.

He never knew that his subconscious would be so straightforward. Despite himself, the irrationalness of the entire behavior was conducting its own harsh exposures; he frantically tried to dissolve whatever ridiculous explanation his sleep deprived and manic mind could come up with. When he was sure that he had imagined the voice, Severus turned to walk. He was becoming extremely suffocated by the lack of space and no one was doing a damn thing about it. It was just when he was about to walk when the voice decided to make itself know.

" _I see you, boy_ , "it said.

She came to him like a dream. The air was full of her celestial beauty and the trail of calmness that she left behind. It was like she spirit was a drought and he was the patronage that was reaping the benefits of dying of thirst. She was soul stealing, that what it was.

"Cease your inquiries," his eyes became instantly dark. If she wanted to talk to him, he would do without the use of something that meant to numb him. He would not go around acting the fool. "If you wish to speak, then cease your tricks."

" _It is no trick"_

"I said cease them," he hissed. "Or be gone. I do not wish to walk around as if I am floating on air."

" _Drinking provides enough of that sensation, does it not?"_

He clenched his jaw out of habit. How dare she implicate such things! He indulged, not drink himself stupid. There was a huge line between the two.

How she knew about his drinking habit was strangely alluring. He would very much like to know how she was able to dig up that bit of information. If she could do that, then what else could she uncover?

" _Perhaps, a bit of flesh?"_

How she knew about his drinking habit was strangely alluring. He would very much like to know how she was able to dig up that bit of information. If she could do that, then what else could she uncover? What astounded him the most was that she had no qualms of knowing what he liked to partake in? Whether it is drink or flesh, she didn't seem the least bit concerned about knowing. All she was anxiousness was directed elsewhere, somewhere much deeper. He felt the barriers of his mind tremble as if being coaxed into opening up. An act that he did quite often, and without fault. Those around him knew not to be too careless lest he did decide to venture into their mind. And he was no different. He tightened his hold on the gate and looked her in the eyes.

She had peered into his mind, and he had not been prepared or even forewarned.

He was a man who enjoyed a great many of things, including drink and flesh. It required a fine taste, the things that he liked to do. Some people would be scandalized by the very notion of his activities, others basked in the idea that he could do such things to their bodies and still have an appetite for more. Severus liked to dominant others, liked to control them, and to have leverage over when and if they find fulfillment. The frightening part of his exploits wasn't what he used, or how advocated his pleasure, but it had to be the way he handled his partners that was a turn down for most. The girl was no exception, thus he thought that it would be more pleasurable to break her than any other suiter he's come across.

" _Ah, we have displeased you."_ they said innocently. _"You wish to do those things to that girl, yes?"_

"Too right you are, you bloody spirit." Severus said coldly. "But, what I want has nothing to do with you. Why have you sought me out? What is it that you want?"

" _To see into your soul,"_ they drifted before him, swaying. _"We have seen into it, you know."_

Severus' eyebrows drew into a hard, unreadable line. It was probably under the druse of the drug, or was she indulging in her own form of narcotics?

"And what have you seen, spirit?" again, his jaw was clenched and made it hard to speak. As painful as it was, nothing would be able to compare to what this woman could have possibly have seen.

The years have not been kind to him. He never discussed that aspect of his life, but there were some things that were better left where he had long since left them. Severus did not wish to remember, nor was he in the mood for one of his infamous nightmares. He had taken too many droughts, spent more time in suspension and reclusive transitions to come face to face with the monster of his childhood.

 _He came at him with a peculiar look. The young boy he once knew looked at the belt precariously, wondering what it is that he had done wrong. He could smell his father's favorite drink on his breath. It was pungent and well placed. He took a step backward, stumbled, and fell. His father came and hovered above him reeking of a foul order that he knew was to be vomit and rations of meager substance. He was mumbling something, petting him on the head, but before he knew it, he had struck him with his belt and he lay bleeding from where it cut him, hunched over and crying. The boy had taken something from him; his father accused him of several other things before his hands began caressing him once more, this time more insistently. He grabbed hold of his trousers and tucked them down all the while his father murmuring that this was good, that it was alright. Everything was going to be alright. The boy didn't understand what he was doing, being too young to understand then. But, with the addition_

 _Severus didn't know then, but what his father was holding in his hands would not only bring about terror, but transform him more ways than one. He would become a man of misery, of lost censorship, and a total shut out. He would learn what there was to face with his back turned, his stomach on the hard, cold floor and his legs drawn under him. There was nothing loving about it, nothing normal- he would learn to hate his very being and misunderstand what love was._

 _From one pain, another was born._

It was a memory that he would never forget. It was only after his drunk-induced death that he found something resembling peace.

" _No child should go through what you have gone through…"_

"Who told you to see that?" he hissed. "Nothing of this earth gives you the right to pry, spirit!"

Through his tirade, he could feel his father's hands dig into his shoulders as he defiled his flesh.

" _Oh, yes. You have suffered."_ The emblems disregarded his comment and proceeded to read him still like an open book. _"We have seen all your memories, felt all your sorrow. You yearn to know why he did it, and why he slipped onto the wrong road. You serve a horrible creature whose own soul is so far corrupted that there is no chance of redemption. But, you. You have the potential. If only you would perceive the light. Let her in."_

"Be gone!"

" _Is that what you wish?"_ they asked, then. _"If it is so, then it shall be. Though, we know what your deepest desires are."_

With that, she disappeared, and she left no sign that she had been there and no lineage to what she foretold.

It seemed that this spirit was inclined to see their worst fears come to light. For as everyone in the room had foregone Dumbledore's warning and were considering the basin with the upmost display of content and awe. Some faces were strewn in agony, while others were completely expressionless.

Even the Granger girl had been stupid enough to listen to the siren's call.

Just as his thoughts settled, a gripping pain shot up through his arm, impairing him speechless.

No, he can't possible want to see him now!

He looked up and was met with a curious stare.

Dumbledore was looking at him as if he knew.

Severus' arm was beginning to burn, and brought on by the chance dealings of fate, he would soon be met with even more unimaginable pain.

' _What is it, Severus?'_ Dumbledore asked. A previous conversation they had rising to the surface.

' _It's spreading,'_ he told him. Bitterly, he recollected the night after he had been told of his fate with the girl. He still hadn't forgiven the old man for placing his name in the damned list of suiters. He didn't think he would be able to after all this was over. _'If I had to say, Headmaster… you have less than a year left.'_

' _That long?'_ he asked. Surely, he must have misheard him. Though, his eyes didn't quite hold the venom of disbelief it once had. He looked perfectly compliant to the fact that he will die within the next year. "Alas, time. It makes a fool of us all, yes?'

'You don't say," he hissed scathingly. _'Why do you insist to bring that damnable notion up, Headmaster? You are dying. Cannot you not see the toll that ring is taking on you? Why don't you take it off?'_

' _I cannot.'_

' _So help me, Headmaster. If you so much as hint at the inability to take that damn ring off-"_

" _It is impossible,"_ he held up his diseased hand and looked at him with the deadly stare of finality. _'I have destroyed it, but I must be the one to bear its awful end.'_

Much as he had done then, Severus was giving him a look of pure astonishment. It was a brave misunderstanding, and one that would Dumbledore would no doubt take in the wrong manner.

He was being summoned, and if he didn't act quickly, the entire operation would be ruined.

* * *

Hermione had closed her eyes in deep concentration, thinking amicably that it may aid in her decision into the unknown. She had never had to think about what she wanted; things just happened and most of the time it was either the boy's doing, or some unplanned course that the Fate's foresaw. When Dumbledore instructed them to ask for something of the land and creatures, her first instinct was to question it. And, then she realized something. For them to get access to the land, they had to give something up in return. Had it been any ritual she's read up on, she knew that some time before the night was over she would be a little more than exhausted and her skin would be sliced somewhere as the result.

She tried her best to think of what she wanted.

Everything that she could possible ask them was right there in front of her: friends, a loving family, a place to call her own- what else was there to take in such a greedy, hateful world? With the dawn of the Second Wizarding War approaching and Voldemort gaining irrepressible power, Hermione couldn't think of anything that she wanted except for one thing.

Safety.

Her mind whirled chaotically.

She wanted everyone just to be safe. To wish for no death or casualties was wrong of her; though, it would have been something she dearly wish despite having to tell them of her deepest desire. A cold front draped over her, and she knew no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't conjure an image of what she wanted. To this, she allowed the creature's voice float over her. To say the least, it was they who discovered the true cause of her heart.

" _We see, girl."_

" _Oh, yes. We see."_

" _And, we shall grant it."_

" _But for a cost."_

" _Oh, yes. For a cost."_

"What do you want?" she finally asked, suddenly feeling the ward of uncertainty that she felt when the statue had spoken to her wash over her. The frightful voices were like pine needles that stabbed her skin with every second that passed. The wait was unbearable.

As if to answer her, they forced her gaze toward the basin where Dumbledore stood, a knife in hand. The individual who had been brought him took it, sliced their hand and allowed the blood to slip from their body and into the basin. A blood ritual. It was her worst fear come to light.

They wanted her blood.

Panic consumed her.

The individual at the alter turned, and someone was called to the give their blood to collect in the basin, her heart began to hammer inside her chest. The thrumming began insistent and she adamantly refused to believe that this was about to take place.

"Elizabeth Wayford," The Headmaster called out the first name.

The girl who had almost struck her earlier had been huddled in the darkest corner of the room, away from the eyes of her fellow housemates. Clearly, the siren had gotten to her and she was mumbling something Hermione couldn't quite understand. Through it all, she was able to pick up some words and piece them together. Something about power and wealth and a husband that wouldn't hit her. Her own mother was the culprit of such inquisition.

With an audible gasp, the Slytherin girl slowly made her way up and was greeted by the Headmaster. They exchanged several words before his eyes roamed over the basin and he motioned for her to step completely forward. Hesitant to oblige, she gave him a skeptical look before her eyes flickered up and looked somewhere out in the crowed behind her.

Hermione didn't have to guess as to where she might had directed her look to. Professor Snape was standing, drawn away from the group as several more people joined them from out of nowhere. Their origins unknown whilst they filed in and made little to no acknowledgement to one another. None of them spoke. Their eyes were tightly drawn forward, their expressions pained as they were lost in deep concentration. A kind of darkness meant to deprive them of any sort of positive emotion settled around them. It was as if a hoard of Dementors had been sent to eclipse their gathering in the time that hope was necessary for survival.

Professor Snape was looking not at his student but something else entirely. It was almost as if his gaze was drawn to hers, though she couldn't quite understand how that was possible when she wasn't the one being brought up for slaughter. There was no guidance for this ritual; it appeared whatever name was called out another name was presented in a perfect match. Thus, introducing the two individuals that would soon become each other's spouses.

A tall dark man with somber eyes wearing a drench coat came forward. Hermione then realized that her Professor's gaze must have been directed at the man who supposedly was Wayford's new husband.

In fact, there were a lot of Slytherins that she was beginning to recognize. Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass for one, along with a seventh-year boy she didn't know the name of. With a pressing thought, she wondered which girl would become Malfoy's wife when she realized he would not be a part of this evening's festivities, a sick pleasure that she took for herself despite the dread the was beginning to build. Two more men came forward, both dressed outlandishly and their respective wives looking at them with shock. If Hermione didn't know any better, they had been promised by some celestial force to these men way before the law was ever written. She supposed it was a life lived as a Death Eater's daughter, or a girl caught up in the storm of money and power. A piece of her went out to them because she knew now that the kind of abuse that they must suffer at home.

Malfoy had the nerve to insinuate that she would become his, a notion that was so farfetched that she wouldn't give it so much as a thought. Whatever the aim for the Law, Hermione would see it through. She wouldn't fall victim to abuse; she would fight back. She hoped whoever she would be paired up with would be prepared. She was not going to back down. Not without a fight.

With another glance toward her Professor, she found that the object of his interest wasn't the ritual or the spouses that were being named off at all.

It was her.

Why he would be looking at her with the most pained expression she didn't know.

How it struck her was undeniably odd.

" _Do not fear."_

" _We know what you wish."_

Hermione looked around to find the body that belonged to the voice but found none. She found it wholly strange that the spirits would allow her to know what the others were seeing and wishing as a request from them.

How they knew what she wished was another thing that didn't quite fit with her.

" _We see into your soul, and we shall grant your wish."_

Their almost taunting voices did nothing to instill any bit of trust or clearance. Suddenly, all eyes were scanning the crowd. Neighbors were looking at one another in distrust. At one point, a deep argument of voices captured the attention of the entire room. While she was caught up in her own thoughts, the basin had turned a ghastly shade of purple and Hermione stood there with fear coursing through her heart. When she looked up, she caught the eyes of her Professor one last time and her name was called, ending all arguing for the time being.

Her entire world began to fall. Her mind spiraled out of control, her vision blurring against the brightness that tried to wrap around her. In her disillusioned state, a voice came to her and

"Hermione Granger," the Headmaster greeted her and for the first time she could understand the scope of what she was about to face.

Hermione greeted him silently.

"Have you done what I have asked?"

She nodded.

"Your hand, please."

The sound of anguished cries filled the room, and Hermione looked beside her to find the Head of her house hunched over, Professor Sprout aiding the best she could in her attempt to calm her.

Hermione tried her best to ignore her House' pleases, though the inbred of feelings were beginning to coil tightly around her like some human-like trap. She felt insanely vulnerable; even more so that she ever thought possible.

With her hand hovering over the basin, her eyes lifted to meet that of her Headmaster's, his blue eyes shining dimly. It barely ruptured the sense that threatened to consume her. A dagger was being handed to her, and with unsteady fingers, Hermione wrapped them around the hilt and ran the tongue across her palm. It sent shivers down her spine.

The incision was quick, almost painless until her blood began to run from the cut and drop into the basin. The stink mollified whatever other senses that began to ache. Never been one for seeing blood, her eyes instantly closed and she was met with an image would soon be engraved into her mind forever.

A bright light burst in front of her vision. The light was by no means warm. Its cold rays penetrated her to the very bone. There was no comforting thing about it. Once the light fell away, she was met with an unearthly sight of her life. Every memory from her childhood played before her like a slow-moving motion picture. Soundless and ageless; it truly was something worth watching, despite the hazy noise that enraptured her. Through the buzz, she could make out just a few words. Suddenly, the memories fell away and she was met with a startling image that instantly sent her mind spiraling out of control.

Once the swarm of pictures settled like dust against the glass, she was able to make out the image that was emerging like a mirage through the trick. It was a seemingly dark character, one that she believed had to be a play on her mind. Despite the discouragement, reality fell through the cracks and when she lifted her gaze toward where the basin was, smoke rising from the shallow bowl, she had to dig her nails into her palms to make sure that she wasn't imaging what she saw.

Someone in the crowed let out a startling gasp as her heart froze.

 _`.Hermione Jean Snape`._

The basin had presented her with the spirit's decision.

* * *

 **Author Notes:**

A blood ritual is defined as the act of using blood as a tool when making an ornament or small piece of jewelry thought to give protection against evil, danger or disease.

The blood can also be used to perform a ritual, or to cast a spell or curse. When two or more people intermingle their blood in some way, they are symbolically brought together into a family.

Blood magic does not have to involve killing people or animals as a ritual sacrifice. It is the use of a few drops of blood during a spell or ritual—usually your own blood, but if you are casting for someone else you could use theirs (with caution and permission). Those few drops can add power to a magical working in any number of ways.

 **Note:** Old Man of Storr and the Isle of Skye were inspiration for the rocky terrain in which our characters find themselves at. Despite its less fragmented characteristics, I wrote the scene to suit the needs of the narrative.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** speaking of Blood Rituals, did y'all notice that Severus didn't put his blood into the basin? Hmm… and trust me ;) Hermione will _not_ be submissive to the idea of being married to Snape. She will try her hardest to have it revoked one way or another and her spontaneous invocations will get her in trouble with the Professor. I know what y'all want! I got you!

The next chapter will carry on from where this one left off, but with Hermione's turmoil as she tries to process what just happened. Even the crowd's reaction isn't all that supportive and in the process of trying to mollify Hermione, Severus will be summoned by Lord Voldemort (Impeccable timing, as always) and have no choice but to leave and return to his lord's side. What comes next will be of mature rating, so please read at your discretion.

This was the HARDEST chapter to write. Ever. Thus, the long hiatus. Along with personal things that occurred this year.

Many of you might find these last few chapters boring or unnecessary, but if anyone has been following be since the beginning they would know my unorthodox take on various prompts. If I were to do a Veela take, I wouldn't do it the traditional way. I like writing about odd things, or coming up with different variations of expressing things. If that bothers you, then please don't read my work. It's simple. I don't write for profit, or even reviews (though, I am blessed to receive whatever positive feedback that I do get from my work). If the number of reviews people see on any work is the dominating factor whether they should read someone's work or not, then I don't want to be a part of it. It's like no one wants to give anyone a chance and that's disgusting. This is my only outlet, and I won't let anyone take it away from me.

With that said, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to come, Girl Scout's Honor!

-Carolare Scarletus


	7. The Burn

**A/N down below.**

* * *

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Six

The Burn

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

* * *

*.-"-.*

And, when I touch your skin,

I feel as if I'm almost

Alive.

*.-"-.*

* * *

Masked by the shadows, he arrived wordlessly form thin air and made quick haste down the avenue. Small orbs of light lit his path. Malfoy Manor sat situated at the end of a very long drive. The yellow hedges were cut to sharp lines and a series of exotic peacocks adorned the handsome landscape. As the wind picked up, his robes billowing like a foreboding drape of darkness against the early morning heat of the September, Severus made great strides along the lane and came to a sudden, indiscreet halt at the entrance of the gate. With no one to welcome him to the manor, he narrowed his magic and let himself in without so much as a greeting. The warm air circulated around him like a hiss of an enormous snake as his memory served him well and the wards were lowered. He was still trying to get over what he had felt before his departure from the cave upon his Lord's urgent orders.

Rain poured down like heavy stones against the paved drive leading up to the Manor. Golden light streaked across the late evening sky, illuminating the surrounding area just as a lean figure appeared with a loud ' _pop_ '. He stood completely still at the edge of the narrow lane before stowing his wand into his robes. The water-dispelling charm he had casted before his arrival was working beautifully.

Severus wasted no more time. Quickly, he marched forward, hissing a string of anti-hex incantations under his breath. He had been momentarily surprised to discover that not a single protection spell or charm had been disarmed prior to his arrival. It was as if someone didn't want him there, and he didn't have to guess as whom that someone may be. Snape knew very well that his friend loathed him. Ever since the Department of Mystery, Lucius Malfoy has made ever pass to make it clear of his hatred for him. With each tentative step, he almost feared he would accidentally set off one of them, and end up either flat on his face, or worse. The lack of a welcoming atmosphere was not his concern when he knew very well that Lucius didn't want him there. It certainly wasn't the first time he did it, and it wouldn't be the last, he feared.

He was very aware of his feelings towards him, not that he cared at all about his friend's feelings. Truth be told, he could care less. Although he was here to help his insolent son, he had other matters to attend to before he could get his hands on him. And, he would make sure this session would be harsher and more vigorous than the previous sessions in the past. Oh, yes, he was very much looking forward to this meeting, despite the dread that was currently building up inside of him. However, his obligations elsewhere prevented him to take out his frustrations of the bot.

Snape trotted forward. His black robes billowed in the wind as he casted silent glances all around him. Dark, looming shadows stood in attendance all around him, low hisses could be heard in all directions. No doubt the two stone statues of serpents that safeguarded the wrought-iron gates he was fast approaching. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. Before he could reach into his pockets, a flash of light shot out of the darkness and struck him right in the chest. He staggered back, landing painfully on his back. Snape snapped his attention above him and was met with one Lucius' ingenious creations.

Twin stone serpents slithered toward him, hissing angrily at the figure that wasn't their master. Severus reached out for his wand, which had flown out of grasp and landed some feet away. A hiss issued from their mouths. One slithered forward, taking the opportunity of stunned compliance to strike his arm, but before either of them could strike again, a flash erupted around him and the serpents were thrown from him. He stood quickly, wincing slightly at the injury he sustained before quickly recovering as he clenched his wand. Hurrying to escape from the rain, he realized someone was waiting for his arrival at the top of the staircase of Malfoy's grand estate. The door had swung open sometime during the attack. Rodolphus Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov stood together at the face of the door. Without saying a word, they helped him up the stairs and to the door. Dolohov opened it and allowed him passage. He drew in a desperate breath before turning towards the two men before him. Almost on cue, the doors swung close by an outside force, allowing him to smother in a blaze of blood and venom. Severus looked outside in a silent moment of tidings before aligning his visual aid toward the darkly lit corridor. Through the winding terrace of the abode, Severus could unravel the night's events.

Severus knew that he had escaped by the very skin of his teeth. Lucius' creation had been monstrous in stature, and as noxious as the actual creature. Unfortunately, he had to destroy it, otherwise it would have destroyed him. For once in his life he feared what this blasted living would do. If his Lord were to discover that his creation had been defeated, there was no telling what kind of rampage he would go on. Not only would he be angry, he would no doubt seek retribution. The only thing he could do now was levitate the broken pieces of his hard work and place them into a neat pile in front of the twin doors. Shaking with apprehensiveness, he collected himself and pray.

Their Lord would be furious if he found them in the open, especially when he had no intimation as to where they could have gone within the Manor. Severus could very well say that he had been there watching, listening to them speak in a dead language he fortunately did not know. He surmised to say that he was there within that very hall.

"Would you like to explain to me why you are in this state?"

"You can thank Lucius for it," he snapped, feeling around for his wand so he can cast a quick cleaning spell. He had no idea where the blood had come from originally.

Lestrange stared at him. Shock flashed across his features. "H-he did this to you, Severus?"

He shook his head, sending his inky hair flying in odd directions. "No. It was his serpent."

"What about its existence?"

"Terminated. I had to, Lestrange. Or, it would have defeated me."

Dolohov concealed his fear and concern for his acquaintance. They both knew that Lucius would be angry to know that his creation had been demolished. Yet, despite the inevitable punishment, it had to be performed. Severus was the only one who could console him in the end.

"That was supposed to be taken down," Dolohov hissed, watching as Severus threw Lestrange off his person to attend to his injury himself. Low groans of pain escaped his lips, but Severus had to forge ahead. Once he knew they were safe, he took a tentative glance around before carefully revealing his arm and looking over the bite. If it had been the Lord's blasted snake, he would've died. Better to free him now then face his death later. For a moment, Albus' face appeared.

The two men bowed their heads, the force of Severus' rage weighing down upon them like physical weights.

"Forgive me, I was not aware-"Lestrange began, but was cut off by Severus.

"Silence." He was in no mood for their excuses. Severus looked between the two bitterly. "Is everyone here?" he asked, though he felt nothing of the sort of importance. He was terribly late for the meeting, and they were not doing anything to help. His anger evaporated in a swirl of black smoke, though the dull burn of his mark still bothered him.

Lestrange nodded. "We need to convene to the dining hall and wait for further instructions. There is some late business that demands The Dark Lord's attention before then."

Severus inclined his head to the right understandingly. He stood there silently, mulling over something that had pushed away until he was sure. His Lord had been the one to set up the twin snakes. Their whisperings had naturally elicited interest to blossom. As an old proverb he once had the misfortune of hearing had described: curiosity once killed the cat. But, he knew now how inaccurate the saying was. Curiosity was a despicable thing; Severus knew that from experience.

"What news do you bring me," Severus asked after some time. He forged through the pain as the walls stretched out before them. Even now, he could feel the lure of their Master's magic.

Lestrange's face pricked with a grin as they walked. "Our Lord wishes to reward you."

"For what purpose?" Severus hastily casted a simple charm on himself to cover up the marks.

"Haven't you heard?"

His lack of a response was enough to warrant Dolohov to answer.

"Lord Voldemort has learned that Draco is to kill Dumbledore. Isn't it an honor?"

The honor was that he already knew.

"It is, "Lestrange agreed excitedly. Severus had to reign in the rest of his control and build up higher walls to keep himself from falling through cracks that ought to be sealed. "Draco is in there now enjoying his first Mudblood virgin. I believe you may have one for yourself, Snape, if you've played your cards right."

Dolohov chuckled beside him. "Oh, yes. I plan on taking her after Malfoy is done with her. She'll be dressed in white before the night is over."

"It's too bad we can't join them until later," Lestrange grinned. "I saw the Muggle girl, Severus. She is quite the alluring creature. Nice, firm breasts and I hear her pussy is to die for."

"Don't get riled up just yet," Dolohov said with a chuckle, keeping his distance from Severus.

"I'll be the judge of that, Lestrange."

A raucous laugh welcomed his statement. "I wouldn't be saying things like that, Lestrange. I don't think your wife would take too kindly to you fucking other girls."

"That's if she's not in the mood to join us." He smiled. "You know how Bellatrix is, always has to be the center of attention. It was the same way with her last toy."

"That sounds… riveting," he told them darkly.

"I assume you'll want to partake this evening, Severus?"

"I'm sure we'll be able to find someone suitable to your tastes," chortled Lestrange. "As… sophisticated as they are, that is."

Severus' eyes darkened. He turned to look at them and said," You know nothing about my tastes."

"What of that Mudblood girl you're going to marry? Surely, you'll want to mold her into your own?"

The idea of raping some poor Muggle girl was surprisingly sickening, even for him. Severus has had countless girls, a virgin punctured by another with her blood still as fresh as it had been moments before was nothing excitingly new to him. He even ventured to say that he would no doubt would have enjoyed the girl if the circumstances were different. He felt relatively sick- sick unto death. All these raids, missions, and overly consumption of flesh and wine was beginning to take a heavy toll on him. If it was any condolence that Dumbledore has told him, only one thing could end it all and that was the Potter boy. As much as he hated to admit, in the end, Potter was destined to save them all.

As for what Lestrange said about his wife, no words could express just how mortified he is by the ordeal. This wasn't just some game; this was their lives. Married only a by a law and forced into slavery, the girl would be damn lucky if she made it out alive. And, that was being kind. He had no choice in the matter, and upon reflection, he supposed she didn't have a choice, either. The Deatheaters would devour her; it was his job to ensure that didn't happen.

"When will we get to meet the girl?"

Severus stopped in his tracks, careful not to let the lust laced in his words get to him. Revealing that the girl is his student would be problematic, though he got the feeling that they had some inkling on what kind of relationship they had. It was these kinds of risky plays that forced him to remember his place, and count his blessings that he was still alive. The girl was his responsibility, now.

"Soon," he promised in a haunted tone. "Though, I would be inclined to remind you that you have a wife, Dolohov and if you even _think_ about touching mine, there will be hell to pay."

"Already so protective of the brat," he snickered as they journeyed across the great entrance. "I was just curious. We know how many girls you go through, so this one can't be any different. You'll grow bored of her soon and find another plaything. And, when you do…"

A blinding light erupted between them. Dolohov had no time to prepare before he was thrusted against the nearest wall and his face shoved against a dangling adornment. Severus had wordlessly casted a binding spell. While Lestrange struggled to get the situation under control, the Potion's Master swaggered over to where he had Dolohov bound, watching as he writhed against the invisible strings. A snarl escaped Severus' lips as he pushed his wand against his cheek, brought his face to his and whispered," Don't you _ever_ speak about my wife like that again, understood? She isn't a slag, and she most certainly isn't going to become one of your little Mistresses, either."

Severus straightened himself. Lestrange was glaring at him with animosity. He knew that he was thinking the same exact thing, but they were forgetting just one thing- Severus does not share. Although he intended to keep this affair under lock and key, he feared that he would have to act on the actual implications of the Law. He wouldn't dare harm or touch a student; that was so low, even for him. He didn't think he could do it with the girl. It was clear to him that he'd have to think of another way around the Law without them both falling under the pretense of marriage.

He released Dolohov without a word, stepped away from the wall and proceeded down the hall again. He knew they were smirking at him as they graced the halls.

The halls of the Malfoy Manor were exceptionally cold, even in the middle of summer. Even in the heat of the day, the halls remained the same temperature, chilling the wanderers to the very bone as they sought passage through its twisting turns and deceitful rooms. The voices seemed to echo unnaturally, filling the abnormally quiet halls with a symphony of aches and groans. If Severus hadn't known better, he would have thought that somewhere deep within the ancient Manor someone was being tortured and held against their will.

They continued down their path. As they walked, they passed several familiar doors that held some significant meaning to one of them. Lucius and Severus have known each other since school; their friendship, however, hadn't started until well into their fourth year. Back in those days, they could hardly tolerate each other. Not because of some Pureblood hostility and superiority. Their rivalry, for a while, was the result of two boys who had the insatiable urge to prove their worth to one another. Spiteful, childish rivalry had flourished into an unyielding friendship that would no doubt withstand throughout the ages.

Severus had been reminiscing about the early years of their following when rows of oil lamps blurred passed them in a flurry of red and orange. Old portraits of Malfoy Ancestors stared. Hatred flooded their souls as they walked by them. Some even moved, leaning into the portrait beside them, and whispered something dishearteningly corrupt. He had grown accustomed long ago by their snickering; he hardly expected them to point and openly evaluated him after so many years of being their descendant's best mate, but he was hardly complaining. With friendship, came strained respect. Severus sent the portraits a haunting glare before switching his attention forward.

They walked in utter silence for a few more minutes until they emerged from the darkness and into the gallery of the front entrance. A grand staircase welcomed them, as well as two cloaked figures that stood hunched close, whispering something incoherent underneath their breaths. They seemed to not have noticed them as they continued to converse. It wasn't until something startled them out of their tiny world.

After several minutes of walking they had finally arrived to one of their Lord's most sacred, and most safeguarded spaces aside from his study. And just like his study, it was guarded by something seemingly innocent to the naked eye-a painting of one of the Malfoy's ancestors. The entire estate had been crafted into his liking. As Severus waited, the portrait moved like a motion picture, and as they carefully approached the portrait, the man inside gave them an inquiring look, as if he had not been expecting him so late.

Not that Severus would ever need permission to enter the room. The portrait was simply there to hex anyone who dared enter or disturb him while they conversed. It had happened in the past multiple occasions; he wanted to ensure the secrecy of their meeting, even within their ranks. Not that their ambitions weren't entertaining. Though, it appeared a few of them hadn't learned their lesson despite being humiliated publicly.

"Have they started?"

"No," came the portrait's answer.

Severus smirked at the word that the portrait's choice of acknowledgement. "Very well. You may leave, now."

The man bowed his head in respect. "Your wish is my command."

With that, he vanished. Left behind in his stead was a single brass doorknob. Sometimes he wondered if he ever would truly be welcomed. Tossing the thought to the wind, Severus reached out, placed his hand on the cold knob, and turned it.

Cool flames flickered venomously in the hearth, sending orbs of tiny blue light to dance around the large hall. The air held some level of stiffness and uneasiness. It had been far too long since some of his fellow brethren had gotten together and far more, it felt, since the last meeting. It had been a grueling wait for this night, one filled with anxiety and anticipation. Though the Ministry of Magic had yet to pin-point the mysterious activities on them, it did not mean they could relax, much less let their guard down even a fraction. They had to remain alert in the off-chance that something could go astray. Someone was always watching.

Severus sat quietly, waiting for their fabulously late guest. The eight other guests sat in a tight proximity to one another, while allowing some elbow room. The baroque table reflected the nervous, darkened faces that the flickering, pale blue fire failed to illuminate. Silence gripped them. Not a single soul uttered a word, afraid of the punishment if they were to speak before the last guest was to arrive. Even though he had yet to make an entrance, his strong magic was present. Several members shifted uncomfortably in their cushioned seats, some sent frantic glances towards the double doors of the dining hall while other simply straight ahead. He was not among the sea of nervousness; he had vanquished that beast long before evening had started.

Someone glanced at him as he sat petrified, tending to some minor cuts on his arms. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. Deep cuts adorned his pale skin, blood leaking out at a slow rate, but not too rapidly to cause significant blood loss. Lucius had certainly taken great care and precaution in making his masterpiece. Deep down, though, he knew just how devastated he will be when he learned the truth of the unfortunate end of it. Sacrifices had to be made. If that meant even, he had to be on the receiving end of his wrath then so be it. He would endear whatever his own friend threw at him if that meant having someone he trusted with his life, and beyond that, by his side. Severus had been truly gracious these past several months. By keeping Lucius wife, Narcissa occupied, assuring her that everything was alright, he had been able to accomplish more than he ever dreamed or thought possible. Oh, how he wished he could say the same for his old acquaintance.

It was the sudden sound of creaking, wooden doors that snapped his attention away from his thoughts. Immediately, nine heads turned in union. The burning itch on all their right arms had been swiftly activated, prompting everyone to stand and bow with their heads leveled perfectly in relation to the floor. Satisfied with the greeting, the burning stopped, and they were given permission to sit once again.

"Gentlemen," Their Lord greeted the group with fondness. Such longing and planning had finally brought them to this joyous occasion. All attendees turned to the owner of the voice, standing before bowing their heads to show respect.

The Dark Lord smiled at them, his tongue darting out of his mouth every so often to moisturize his parched lips. Someone on the other end of the table let out a gasp of bewilderment. He did not seem to have heard it as he carefully stepped away from the table and over to the striking marbled fireplace. Prevailed by the lavish, golden mirror that reflected the erratic dance of the light, he stared into the roaring fire. Bursts of blue shot out, landing just inches from where he stood. Again, he seemed unfazed. But, as he watched the fire, his expression darkened considerably. He awaited very good news. And good news he shall receive or there would be Hell to pay.

"Let us skip the pleasantries and get straight to business." He finally said, his eyes scanning the table until they fall upon their gracious host. "Ah, Lucius. It has been much too long."

"Yes, it certainly has." Lucius greeted his friend with metaphoric open arms.

"Good news, I presume?"

"Of course," he let a small smile appear on his face it disappeared entirely. "Since the last time we gathered, several of our fellow members have successfully located and collected the items you have instructed them to retrieve."

"How many casualties?"

"Several on our end, I'm afraid. Two Aurors were fatally stunned, another mildly injured."

The serpentine man adopted as sullen frown. He didn't like that one bit. "I suppose sacrifices must be made for the good of the cause. And, what of our current target?"

"We have surveillance watching his every move."

"Excellent," he sneered, his elegantly long tongue darting out for a taste of his lips.

"There is one, little thing, however." Lucius continued solemnly, not wanting to bring up the problem they had just recently faced. It had been a huge hindrance to the past several missions, but he had every right to know. Those who were not truthful were horribly punished. He had witnessed his rage on many occasions. "It appears that the Ministry has sent in an interloper into our ranks."

"Who are they impersonating?"

"Someone that is known to be dead."

The list of known names began to flash across his eyes like a physical display of recognition. No one dared speak. The air became dangerously close. Their nerves protested vigorously in their very fibers of their being. For an extended second, time stood perfectly still. The only ominous hissing came from the flames in the hearth.

Then out of nowhere, a flash of red burst and erupted like magnificent fireworks around the room. Everyone is engaged in some sort of battle; Lucius quickly found himself in the middle of a raging storm of stunning, leg-locking, disarming spells, and hexes. The men fell to their knees, blood spilling to the immaculate floor of his dining halls. Cries of terror struck the air. In the front line of the fire, he retrieved his wand, pointing it anyone who came near him. Severus knew the reason behind the anger. It had been a simple mission, one so simply constructed and infallible that there were no room for errors, but someone had royally messed up and strained the entire mission to the point they had no choice but to abort.

"How!?" He demanded. "How were they able to get through our impregnable forces?" A moment of silence, anticipation at its height. "Someone enlighten me. I would love to know how they eluded us and how long!"

A small, deep voice broke the silence. "Several weeks," he choked, blood rising from his throat and out of his mouth.

" _Weeks_? He sneered with venom. "That long you say?

"Y-yes," the same man answered, trying to assuage him while at the same time battling to stay alive long enough to relay the good news he sought. "B-ut he was q-q-quickly found out. K-killed in-"

The man was no more, having either given up or ran out of precious time to mend his injuries.

He had watched with no empathy as the man died right before his eyes. His only concern was on the news he had given him. What was he to do now?

"Very well." The man spoke again. "In order to keep suspicion away from us, we shall remain on temporary leave. All members must lie low until further instructions are given. There will be no missions, and all current missions will be terminated." He looked around the room, roaming directly over the injured. His eyes sought out the only two who somehow managed to escape his wrath: the most trusted man of their organization, and the man who so kindly allow him to have the meeting at his humble abode.

"Severus," a hiss came to him through the haze. "Come. I must have a word with you." have a special gift for you."

Instead of speaking, Severus removed himself from the middle of the destroyed dining hall and made his way over to his Lord. He was careful not to step on anyone's hands or other appendages unlike the man who began to make his way over to him with frantic steps.

He knew he would dread the day that his only son would surrender to the same thing as he had. Desperately, he wanted to delay it as long as he possibly could before the only remaining human aspects were completely lost. His soul would no longer be his, or his actions, and his speech. Nothing would ever be the same. He would lose a son, but he would acquire something for generations that his family has been craving and shamefully sought.

"I have been watching you, Severus. I have doubted your loyalty, but it has dawned upon me that you are trustworthy of the task I have selected specifically for you."

"Task, my Lord?"

His master nodded slowly, allowing the heat of the large wash over him. He leaned back against his chair and let out a breathy sigh before lifting his gaze toward Severus. Again, he could feel his red eyes stare directly into his soul.

"I am sure you have heard, Severus. Malfoy's son has been asked to kill Dumbledore. I am sure that you have been contacted by Narcissa to aid in his mission.

"I have, My Lord." He stated firmly.

"I wish to award you." A sneer stretched across his face. "I have a special gift for you."

The Dark Lord brought walked him out of their meeting hall, and into the adjacent room. The pain in his arm subsided long enough for him to recapture the lost disposition his travels had took. Within seconds, the door opened, and he was met with a masquerade the likes of which the Wizarding World has never seen:

Naked bodies meshed together as seductive music played pleasantly in the background. Lucius was marvelous with his reception to the Dark Lord as all the attendants swayed hypnotically, coming to grope and touch each other's bodies in the most sensual of ways. Breasts were licked, cocks stroked up and down vigorously while cores were stroked and teased. Severus walked into the scene with nothing but a whisper of arousal, and he would leave as if he had been raped repeatedly with the upbeat music and overenthusiastic participants.

At the end of the heavy curtain of mixed fog, he made out the monarchs of the house. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were currently engaged in a sexual act that would leave most viewers entranced by their practice. Lucius bent down and bit down hard against the round globe of her breast, leaving Narcissa to shriek out in absolute delight. Moving over him, she found balance, slipped his cock inside her warmth and began riding him with as much wildness as an untrained submissive. Her screams filled the air, growing to the masses. A symphony of erotic noise lifted to the heavens, and the one proposing such a song was the Dark Lord. He had taken a seat in the middle of the captivating audience, watching as the attendees consorted with one another. They all achieved orgasm at the exact same time, the peak rising above them for one explicable moment before crashing down around them. The thickness of their need was tangible in the air; Severus had to be careful, otherwise he'd been too tempted to join them.

Severus moved around the sweaty bodies of his fellow Death Eater's and their muses. The Dark Lord's eyes rested heavily upon his form as he moved closer to where he stood. In an instant, he could hear the screams that were once completely unreachable to him. Somewhere in the house, the Muggle girl Lestrange and Dolohov had spoken of was being held. These images swam inside of his mind in hopes of rousing him, but it did very little to appease him. Even the most sadistic side of his soul couldn't reach that was forbidden.

"I am pleased, Severus," The Dark Lord told him. A man came up to him and in and instant, they were presented with a frightened young girl. Her body quivered as her shackles rattled with each wary step she took toward him. Her eyes became lost in his, and for a second, Severus allowed his true nature to take over. The monster that was him wanted her; the human part of him wanted to let her go.

"Why don't you take your gift is upstairs." The serpentine deity said with a hiss. "I am sure she will make a great asset. She has been trained well, from my understanding."

"She has been trained in the art of anal penetration and merciful humiliation?" he raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Severus looked at the girl with a frown. By the way she trembled, he took it as a 'no'.

"Of course," his Lord sneered deviously. "Only the best for you."

"I'm honored, My Lord."

"As you should be," his laughter was as foul as his sneer. It penetrated his very body, cleaving out his very soul. "Go, Severus. Enjoy your gift."

Severus ignored the cold, heartless stare of his Lord before turning his attention to the screams that began to echo from the landing. The Dark Lord said nothing as he watched him ease himself away from his dark throne. Severus walked through the doors of the Dining Hall and toward the staircase, his Lord's eyes never leaving his as he escorted the girl by the wrist upstairs. He could feel his magic mingle with his; he would watch his performance from the comfort of his seat. Slowly, he crept upstairs until the Muggle girl's screams were loud and piercing. His heart ached, but the magic was too powerful. His Lord must have read from his energy that he didn't want to do this. It was an infraction that he couldn't risk, so he allowed him to believe that he held some power over him. In an instant, he was in another room, looking at the frightened girl as he disrobed and pulled her whimpering form onto the bed.

When he looked in her eyes, he saw himself and that's what sickened him the most.

* * *

Severus stared solemnly out the window of the Headmaster's private study. The deceitful air outside was cold beneath his fingers as he pressed his palm softly against the thick barrier to freedom. He looked to the strand as it gleamed in the moonlight. As he examined the substance, Severus' face lit up against the luminous glow of the moon. Everything that happened until this moment bombarded and rocked him so hard he staggered, the room spun so violently that he was nearly knocked off his feet. The faint light in the room flickered, and as he carefully withdrew his hand to the only thing that resembled warmth, Severus couldn't help thinking over what just happened. Whilst he turned, his hand slipped diligently into the Pensieve and he closed his eyes against the cool sensation as he fell.

 _A dark, unsettling sensation crept up his back as he watched the smoke clear. Its answer began clear as day, and Severus regrettably wished that it hadn't spoken at all. His eyes narrowed, his fingers wrapping around his wand inside of his pocket. The air around him heated as he continued to stare at the girl at the altar. She was dressed in the veil of grand shock; if it hadn't been for the fact that her face was covered, he would be able to make out her expression. A collective silence transgressed the cave at the announcement of the next joining. Dumbledore, who had been standing in front of Hermione, looked to the basin with wary eyes, and nodded once at the decision of the spirits. When he looked at his student, his eyes glossed over. Sadness wrecked his very frame, and it was clear to all who looked at him, he was just as heartbroken by the outcome of the ritual._

" _The spirits have spoken," he whispered low enough for her to hear. "You may take your leave, Ms. Granger."_

 _The girl looked up at him and pleaded with him. "No, I can't."_

" _You must." His invocation sent shivers down her spine. Scared into silence, Hemione looked at him, feeling the tears swell up inside of her eyes. Her throat ached with the excursion of holding back her sobs. After a moment, she nodded and turned to face the audience._

 _Severus didn't even wince when his own skin stitched itself back up. Although he hadn't given them any of his blood willingly, they had taken it only because it called for it. He would protect her, but if it came to protect her from himself, then she was on her own._

 _He watched silently form his little nook of the cave as the basin spat out the girl's name. As the angry ashes settled, his heart clenched inside of his chest as the sight of her name finding its way through the thick fog. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, and when they landed on the unsuspecting man in the trench coat, he narrowed his eyes. Even through his glamour, he could make out his face and he cursed underneath his breath._

 _It was Carrow._

 _The group snapped back into reality and murmurs arose between the fellow students and staff. The collective question was only punctuated by a cry that came from the back, a girl startled by what she saw. There was a discursive wave that swept through the cave, igniting the already astonished participants of the ritual as the girl in question shook her head, discouraged while trying to tame the wild conundrum that she saw before her. This preconceived ailment ran through their minds. Disbelievingly, the group struggled to wrap their minds around it whereas Hermione fought with her own personal disbelief. It was not her Professor's name staring at her in the gold notes that rose from the basin that her blood gave life to._

 _No._

 _It had to be someone else. It couldn't be the name of her tormenter taunting her with his dominance._

 _Hermione watched bitterly as her name slowly vanished in front of her. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She turned abruptly away and backed away from the alter, unable to think let alone comprehend the exact damage that the drawing had done. She didn't dare consider the crowd as her body was racked with angry jolts and seizures. Her heart raced and thrummed against her ribs before completely stopping and voiding her off all reasonable sense. She felt the earth beneath her give out, and as soon as she turned, she came face to face with the frightful look of her peers. For a moment, they were one. They were all fighting the same cause, trying to come out without injury and trying to rise above the destruction that Lord Voldemort was sure to bring. She felt betrayed. Looking over at her Head of House, she felt a ping of deception stab her in the chest and all she could do to stop herself from falling was brace herself before it happened._

 _She felt the heated sting before she felt the incision on her palm stich itself back up. After a moment's hesitation, she looked around, angrily clenching her jaw in a stubborn salute. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, but the tears ran down her cheeks without so much as a preamble. Bent up emotions such as anger and betrayal ran through her veins; she felt that her world was crashing down on her like the millions of twinkling diamonds that decorated the ceiling above. When she had some time to calm herself, the crowd still revealing in the shock of their union, she collected herself wholly and that was what destroyed her the most._

 _It wasn't until her Headmaster stepped up to her and placed a hand on her arm, looking at her as if he was truly repentant of what has become of the ritual._

" _Hermione, I'm so sorry," were his only words of condolence. But, it obviously meant nothing to her as it did him._

 _She shook her head, moving away from the basin and as far away as she possibly could. Everyone who had the decency to pity her moved quickly out of her way as if she was some contaminated piece that they didn't want to touch._

 _The Fates were cruel, yet, she was only their pawn in their game._

 _Hermione had opened up to them as they asked. She had given them her blood, a piece of her being as offering and this was the condolence she got? Crestfallen and incapable of the simple task of movement, she drew toward the only preserve the blasted inhabitants of the land allotted to her. It was single torch of light disguised in the breath of darkness. There, as she walked, Hermione met the warmth of an unknown ally._

 _A deep-seated hatred filled her._

 _Building from the back of her throat, from the tip of her spine and rising so intensely she feared that the scar on her palm burst open and she would drown in her own blood. And, although he didn't give this damned place an ounce of his, Severus could feel his own palm prick as if he stabbed it with a needle just thinking about it. Another sob had escaped her throat. She had given the creatures of this land what they wanted; to think this was how they replayed her was so grossly sickening that she almost threw up, but she held herself in check. The walls of the cave became an insistent blur; the faces unrecognizable against the line that was her stubbornness to accept something that could not be changed. Hands groped her person. It took everything within her power not to stagger and fall into their arms, no matter how much the bidding of so many concerned individuals were, and the lull of the land's song sounded._

 _While the names faded away and became a haunting memory, Hermione slowly turned to face her new husband. Another wave of sickness struck her, and this time she didn't give herself any reservation. She showed him just how much she hated this, hated him, for doing this to her. True to his cold demeanor, Snape said nothing. No words to console her; no attempt to calm her. Just those cold, emotionless eyes that only bore into hers._

 _Then there was that intimation of pain. It was the vaguest little display of regret she's ever saw. If she had a heart at that moment, it, too, had been taken from her._

 _Professor,_ _or not._

 _Spy,_ _or not._

 _Husband,_ _or not._

 _She wasn't going to let him abuse her. That was the resolution to adopted as her vision ceased and she fell face first into the stone._

 _Severus rode against the empowering wind of their words in a steady line of filtered black. He was used to such derogatory accusations. So much so that their words did little to him besides cause amusement against the heart of their disgusted thoughts. Their words were meant to main as he dived from seemingly out of nowhere to catch the falling girl just before she hit her head. All the mounting anger had caused her to lose consciousness. The mere magnitude of what transpired had become too much for her, even for someone so courageous as she was. People had their limits, and it seemed that she had reached hers. Cradling her body in his arms, he looked defiantly up at the crowd and glared at anyone who dared to touch her._

 _No one had the courage to stop him, and it was then he realized what they lacked was a virtue that he unmistakably gained._

" _Traitor!" a voice rang from the back of the dimly lit room. Uproar soon ensued, feeding off the negative energy that course through the air._

 _He stood up, his piercing gaze breaking through the line that formed around him as his eyes met the Headmaster's. Another student was already waiting at the altar. His eyes were casted down in shame. A seventh year, Severus knew. His father had personally placed his name into the drawing and knowing just how influential his family was, Severus had no doubt that the girl whom was destined to become his wife was in for one of the worst enlightenment of her life._

 _He did not stay long enough to see whose name came from his sullied blood. Whoever it was, a small piece of his heart went out to her._

 _Severus worked dutifully through the wave of pain. While the fire scored his arm, he caught the girl, and brought her safely out of the line of the basin and into his awaiting abode. As if the embers had been casted for their arrival, the room suddenly came to a lively declaration._

 _Dumbledore came up to him, eyes demanding that he explain himself._

 _He looked at him," My mark," he told him quietly, making sure that the girl was fine before continuing. "He is calling me."_

" _What about Granger?"_

" _Bring her to her tower." Severus said, and despite his reprimandable character, he added," at least she will have some comfort before she is taken to my dungeons. I'm sure you will be able to give her that."_

 _With that said, he stood and looked at the girl one last time. Words that he knew not the meaning of bombarded him from all directions, all hailing from the negative reaches that they did not understand. Words meant nothing to him. Their accusations and words of his betrayal was something he had grown accustomed to. What he hadn't accounted for was the disbelief that flickered across his peers faces, or the resounding echo that he knew what he was getting himself into was wrong._

Severus pulled out of the memory just in time. He needn't relive what words were spewed at him as he made his escape, promising the Headmaster to meet him in his office later that night. He allowed the accusations to follow in line with him as he made his escape. Billowing robes married the icy cold pit.

It was true that he didn't know what to do with the emotions that stormed through his being like a stampede of horses charging to the finish line. Nothing could have prepared for the sheer magnitude of what he felt when he looked into her eyes. The rage, the anger. The little witch sure was a firecracker of volatile revelations that even he hadn't been prepared for. It was something that he knew he would have to be careful of if he was going to survive any union with her. Somewhere deep down in the darkest pit of his infested soul, he cared for the girl. Not because he didn't want anything to come to harm her, or for the sick part of him that wanted to act on this emotionless tirade that was this damn Marriage Law, but because he knew what it meant to be completely and utterly helpless.

He closed his eyes then and sighed. When he finally opened them, Severus was met with the Headmaster's reflection. There was no telling how long he had bene there, or if his paid witness to his sanity as it spiraled out of control. -reconsider-

"Nothing good can come of sheltering your emotions, Severus."

"I am not sheltering them." He said slowly. "I am simply…"

"…Concealing them?" The Headmaster offered, knowing full well what he was about to say. He's been doing it for so long that Severus wasn't sure what he was sorting out at this point. "As always, you are free to use my Pensieve however you wish."

"He plans to have you killed, Headmaster." He told him in a low voice, as if trying to get it across to him the depth of his predicament.

"And, I plan that you kill me before Malfoy does." Albus said softly. Severus slowly inclined his head and stared at the growing patch on his hand. In a year's time, he would be dead. By disease, or by his own hand, either way he would be gone.

"I don't think I can protect him. Protect _her_ child."

"But you must."

"Nothing good can come of carrying on with this act, Headmaster," he retorted with a hiss as his arm flared up with another wave of heat. "You will die within the year, and I do not know if I was meant to be the one to do so. As I have stated, we are nothing more than pawns in your damned game. My only condolences are that I should have ended it sooner."

"You're still thinking like a fool," said the Headmaster gravely. "I thought the years would've been kind and you would've matured a little."

"You can't expect me to do everything, even after all this time!" Severus bellowed, causing the Headmaster to jump a little. "Do you honestly believe this was the best course of action, Headmaster?" He didn't even try to control the loath marring his words. He looked out the window once more before he removed himself and took up walking slowly about the room. "To _allow_ the students to be married off? I have _seen_ first-handwhat they can do. I've taken part in their activities, tonight. I didn't have a choice, Headmaster, but _they_ do. You know of the monster I've become, so how can you put so much trust that everything will just fall into place?"

The Headmaster remained silent for a moment before smiling. "I put my trust in you, Severus. I cannot ask for more."

"Trust," he rasped the word harshly before shaking his head. Severus continued to pace, but the burning in his arm was mounting. He had to leave, but not without assuring himself of something. "How can you trust that I can keep the girl safe?"

"I'm trusting you with my life, Severus." The Headmaster said quietly. "I think that speaks louder than any of my actions."

"Yet, you still believe I am the fool for thinking that everything is impossible." He said abruptly, turning away from him.

"Nothing is impossible, Severus," He said simply. "She's sedated. I know you're wondering." Albus came around and stopped beside him. His good hand played with the silver necklace hung loosely around his neck. They both stared out to the open fields of the grounds. "Though, I would be inclined to ask what that was all about?"

Severus needn't ask what he meant.

For years he's indulged in sealing unwanted memories in the light abyss of the Pensieve. He frequently found himself drawn to the Headmaster's private basin in the middle of the night, something that Severus knew he was aware of.

"I was trying to forget." He whispered, the memory of the girl he defiled slowly fading away from his mind. He didn't want to remember, nor did he wish to keep awake at night by her haunted screams. Severus closed his eyes and tried to push back the memories that he couldn't get rid of, the ones that would forever be burned into his brain for all eternity. Just like that girl, he hadn't had the fucking hope for his pursuer to stop; he had no choice but to lay there and let him take what he wanted from him. "I can't bare the thought of remembering these days."

Albus only nodded.

Severus couldn't begin to fathom what was going through the Headmaster's head at that very moment. If it was any indication, a small token of insight, it came forth through his eyes. They always were the betrayer of his emotions, something that Severus never was able to grasp. When he looked at the mirror again, a clap of thunder lit up the office, his face reflecting on him in an ethereal sculpture of years of dedication and anguish. It was true he didn't know what he was thinking, nor did he wish to find out, but one thing was for sure- this was just the beginning.

The mockery of it almost made him crack a half-hearted smile.

The absurdity was astoundingly laughable within its own right.

As he swirled back into reality, walking straight as if he hadn't travelled thousands of miles, his mind still lingered on the emotions that he felt. He turned then, facing his mentor of so many years. For once, his face fellow and he bestowed to him the emotions of a coward. A man that could not take it anymore. When his eyes landed on the blackened patch on his hand, Severus' resisted the urge to flip the entire room upside down in anger. He recollected himself, and mark on his arm burned again. This time, he could not prolong the inevitable.

"I must go now," Severus told him.

"And, where will you be going."

The way his eyes turned cold and distant was enough of an answer for the Headmaster.

"You cannot run from this forever." He said quietly. "One day, you're going to have to face it.

"Until then, I'd like to continue to drown myself in my sorrow."

Severus did not say another word until he retrieved his mask from the thin blanket of air around him. Severus stepped up to the window once again, looked back and before he placed his mask on his head, he looked at the Headmaster. As it was for him, Severus' eyes sometimes betrayed him, too.

"I will protect the girl," he told him in a low, hushed voice. "And, when this is over, I expect you to repay your debt to me."

"Only in another life, will I be able to repay you, Severus."

In one fluid moment, he raised his hand, placed the mask on his face, and swirled completely into the blackened existence that was his word.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Once again, starting the next chapter was painfully hard. It didn't help that I was having troubles with my other works, either. I managed to get this chapter where I wanted it, as well as Encomium Ombre Chapter eight. The fourth chapter of Beauty is Beast and the eighteenth chapter of Fated to be Ours should follow shortly. I've finally worked out the kinks for both, as well.

As far as the others go, I would love to know what y'all thought of this chapter. So, drop me a line or two :) It would be well appreciated, and Merlin knows I could use a bit of an uplifting note. (Don't we all?)

I decided literally at the last second to switch the scenes around. It was originally the opposite of what y'all see in the final draft. I hope that was a positive change on my part, and didn't deter from the overall message. Y'all got to see the slight depth of Severus' concern for Hermione. I do want to warn you that this is a M-rated work. The subject of sex, drugs, alcohol, death and rape will be sprinkled throughout the piece, and if you do not wish to read it, then don't. I'm not forcing you.

With that said, I hope you liked it!

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus


	8. The Awakening

**_A/N down below._**

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¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Eight

The Awakening

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

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*.-"-.*

Dark heirs do slumber in

the darling shades of the night

The slumbering light dimm'd,

And opened the skin to fright

*.-"-.*

* * *

Over the next several hours, night warred on like in continuous stanza of nightmares. Every image played like a crazed marionette of puppets, revolving scenes, electrifying lights and piercing screams. Hermione wasn't just having a nightmare; she was reliving the night that Dolohov almost killed her at the Department of Mysteries. Blinding light lashed out before her eyes, scattering the almighty presence and in an instant, she was blasted across the room, landing on her side as pain, so excruciating, overpowered her and she lost consciousness. She hurried down the long corridor, her feet pounding against the marbled floor. The only thing she could hear was the screams of her comrades as they were captured. Spells were being hurtled at them in every direction, and the only saving grace they had come from a singular streak of light in the distance. The last thing she remembered was seeing her executioner's eyes as they lit up with content, and a flash of black as it swirled around her like a drape of welcoming death.

Darkness and a faint, glowing light in the distance greeted her, but no humanly disturbance was there to welcome her. As her heart pounded against her ribcage, bruising with each forceful thump, she took in the environs. She struggled to keep her nerves at bay. Surrounding her was nothing but pit black darkness. As the night air crept up on her, her breathing became labored. The atmosphere was becoming uncomfortably too close for her liking. It was as if she had been rooted to the very landscape she remembered. She thrashed frantically against incredible pull that began to wind around her like thick rope. The invisible binds slithered up her legs, squeezing her thighs until deep grooves could be felt through the thick fabric of her clothing. The binding wounded up, twisting around her arms before tying them behind her. Her chest jutted forward; she let out a terrified shriek as a dark figure emerged from the adjoining area.

Hermione awoke to a terrifying scream. Fire ignited within her throat, scorching the sensitive skin. The heat traveled quickly down her throat, lodging itself in her chest where a whole new burst of fames was set ablaze. The muscles in her neck had been pulled tightly underneath the skin. Contracting wildly, her neck grew taut until breathing had become difficult and laborious. Tears slide down her sharp cheeks in large rivulets. Her eyes, along with the rest of her body burned with unquenchable fire. It wasn't until the sound of someone banging on her door had she realized it had been _her_ that let out that deafening shriek. Warmth enveloped her in a cocoon. And she cried, like all the other nights that she had been struck by these nightmares. She cried until her voice grew hoarse, her body gave out, and her mind shattered. The nightmares had won, conquering her. She had fought with all her strength and what a valiant display of courage that she had not known she possessed.

For the past several nights her dreams have been plagued by unrelenting torment. There were times when she was afraid to go to bed, knowing what waited for her in the realms of sleep. A silly, childish behavior, she knew. It was unescapable. No matter how much she begged, pleaded, prayed, they did not stop. She had even gone as far as using magic to ensure that it didn't rear its ugly head again. It did not work. The nightmares continued. As always, her parents were there to calm her, to appease her worries. Even though she never once told her of the pain, the scenes that would play so vividly in her mind during the day, sometimes she would hear them talk about it in hushed voices. Despite herself, she tried to cling onto the words until slumber took her hand, and brought her back to her prison.

Hermione woke to the same feeling of utter hopelessness and agony. Sitting right up in her four-poster bed, she doubled over, clenching her arms around her torso as a silent cry ripped from her throat. She sobbed until her cries became one with the claps of thunder just outside her window; she sobbed until all the bent-up anguish was no more, and she was well beyond the capable wrath of denial. Her throat ached, the muscles in her limbs taut, and her eyes red against her tear-stained face- Hermione lost it and sobbed some more.

 _It had been her name that came out of that basin._

 _It had been_ _ **his**_ _name that followed suit to the wishes of the spirits._

Hermione never knew what to think of him. Even now, after years of what seemed like constant observation, no words could describe the man that was Severus Snape. He had been Harry's obsession through the years, which seemed astoundingly bizarre, even now. His woes and concerns started during their first year, and as they grew up, matured, and gain experience, those concerns mounted to the monstrosity that it was today: downright loath and suspicion, only subjected by the fact that he was playing on both sides of the double-edged sword. According to them, he was worthless, someone to automatically hate. She fought for years to get the boys to see reason, though it was a fruitless war that she knew, in the end, she wouldn't win. As far as she was concerned, there was still hope that he would turn a new leaf. Though, a part of her would always have faith in the man…

…But that couldn't excuse the feral look that glossed over his eyes when he saved her from one of his students. The unmistakable desire rising from the opaque depths, sending chilling fire to run up her spine and all over her body. His dark demeanor, his toneless, callous voice and the way he suddenly _appeared_ out of thin air like a masked phantom should deter her, but it didn't. And, that was the most startling thing about it; she was drawn to him like a moth to a dark flame. Carelessly drawn, and oh so susceptible to its allure.

Drying her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, Hermione thought back to the emblem, and the boy who came to greet her after her encounter. Never in her life could she forget those fathomless pits that were his eyes, nor the unbecoming nature of his presence. Although she knew she never seen the boy before, something about him was quite familiar. The way his eyes ghosted over her form, considering every intricate detail of her body, from her hair to her feet, didn't go unnoticed, nor did the daring flash of grey that couldn't be denied, or ignored. Riddled breathless, she had watched him walk away and become one with the crowed again, the same feeling of cold, distorted fear running through her veins.

Looking down, she felt the pearled incision on her palm pulse. That was another thing she didn't understand. How was is possible that she could feel him, even though he didn't provide the spirits with any of his blood. Could it be that the Emblem was right? That she was destined to do great things, but what exactly did that entail, and what did it have to do with her connection to her Professor?

She closed her eyes once more, banishing the fear of sleep would bring, if only temporarily, failing miserably when her body truly gave out. Hermione quietly listened for signs of movement, of life. Loving hands soothed her worries as hushed murmurs lulled her back to sleep. The sweet melody of her mother's words in the back of her mind carried her away. It was as if the mere act of her parents had doused the growing heat that flourished so naturally within her, although it did not appease the fear.

Just as she was about to fall back to sleep, she heard a noise. At first, she did not hear the single word that they had quietly uttered. Hushed and desperate voice pierced the darkness in the room; where she lay, she could see three bodies, one of them sitting up straight, vigorous movement blurring the outline of her body.

"You must stop!" one of her roommates urged.

"It…hurts." sobbed, puncturing the room with brutality unknown to none. Hermione could scarcely see, but she knew that voice to be that of Katie Bell.

"I know, but you need to calm-"

"It _**hurts**_." Katie shrieked with agony. With newly found force, she pushed whoever was helping her, and began clawing at her bandaged hand like a savage beast. When she was unable to alleviate whatever was hurting her, she began tearing at the bandages, ripping it as fast as she could from her hand, the incision opening to fresh blood and searing pain. "Make is _stop_." she begged, brushing her fingers against the broken skin only to hiss when her fingers brushed it the wrong way.

They stared at the first half of the disgraceful word that was engraved unwillingly into her arm. A wave of dishearten grief swept over them. Ginny eyed the first three letters with teary eyes while Ron fought back the growing rage that had been left untampered and channeled until now. Harry stood staring it, not knowing what to say or do.

"Katie, you have to stop!" the other girl yelled, wiping her own tears away as she leaned forward to stop her advances.

She looked up, biting her lip. Tears continued their long journey down the plains of her cheeks. "I- "

"It's okay." Her friend consoled her once again.

"Make it _stop_." Katie sobbed, lacing her fingers through her hair as she rocked back and forth. "…no more."

Hermione was unable to see her in the state that she was in. Unable to withstand the overwhelming emotion brought by the man that attacked her and seeing her in such a deplorable condition had become too much to bear all on his own. An unbearable weight had been placed upon his shoulders and for a moment he believed he would break down and cry along with her. If his resolve snapped, who would be there to keep the group from faltering, to keep the world from crashing down upon them without the promise of being fixed? _Who_ , he wondered thoughtfully, would be the one to keep the foundation of their union and friendship from collapsing under the weight of the past and crush the prospects of a bright future? Without a single word, he eyed Ron, making a brief connection with him before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

Hermione's finger twitched uncertainly as they hovered over her searing scar. She fought back tears of pain while the two girls whispered everything and anything that she could think of that would permit her to grow past the moment of uncertainty and progress over to the path of healing. It was with their help that Katie could finally breath a silent sight of relief. Just as Hermione was about to touch her own scar, finding the courage to push through the moment of the past and head towards the future, she stopped. It was also in her eyes that he saw a glimpse of what true horror looked like, what it felt like, tasted, and what it could provide.

Her torso throbbed with unrelenting agony.

Flashes of her own nightmares exploded like tiny white fireworks in front of her. Another bolt searing pain struck her chest, causing her to stifle a moan. She quickly brushed it off as stripping over something that lay on the floor, perfectly waiting to stop him from proceeding as he repositioned himself along the perimeter of her bed. Ginny eyed him suspiciously before the guise of acceptance flashed across her own eyes. The pain continued to worsen until he stopped at the foot of her bed,

It was as if she could sense the feeling too. Hermione looked up and met their gaze. The girls tried to break away from the intense hold that seemed to naturally connect them as one, but she was entirely too strong. Fresh tears instantly collected in the corners of her dark eyes, breaking the prison of their captivity.

Hermione cried; she cried for all the students that were chosen, who were lying in their beds, scared and afraid, and for the pain that the man who touched her inflicted upon her, and for thinking that no one would show up in time to save her.

She fell asleep to her cries, feeling her own sobs become alive with distress once more.

* * *

Hermione continued to press through the icy barricade of the morning air. She braved the icy storm, wand in hand, and clenching her satchel to her chest. When she lifted her head to the sky, she waited for the golden streaks to appear before making her move. In one inexplicable moment, she dashed across the grounds, before finally finding shelter in the courts near the west entrance to the school. Waving her wand, she casted a charm, feeling the water simply lift from her rain-drenched body, before joining a large group of students. During the crucial hours before closing time, she had missed the last bus. She only lived several blocks away. Nothing but a quick walk through the short-cuts she mapped out so many years ago. Turning a left into a nearby playground, she drew the sleeves of her blouse as far as they would go. Her teeth shattered violently inside her mouth, tiny soldiers marched up her barely concealed arms. She ignored the desperate cries of her body; since leaving the library, she had tried several times to perform the body heat charm, but it had failed every time. The last affair had just vanished completely from her body when something snapped behind her, heightening her alarm

The pounding onslaught of rain persisted well into the first week of term, dousing the fire that was unleash unknowingly in the sanctuary of Hogwarts. Though refreshing, those caught in its wrath were soaked to their bones by the time they made their way to their classes, and no amount of charms could take away the cold as it settled within in their bodies.

Among the feeble was Hermione.

She felt as if she was among the living dead. When dawn finally approached, the curtains to her four-poster bed opened, and she was greeted by the curious stares of her fellow roommates. No one could fathom the amount of pain that was burning inside of her; she rose out of bed, going about her daily ritual haphazardly, trying to appeal to them and feign that everything was alright. Little did she knew that she was only trying to fool herself; nothing would ever be the same.

A curse had been casted upon the castle. The news of the Ritual swept through the halls like raging fire, adding fuel to the already devouring trap. Even as she pushed through the lingering groups outside the courtyard, she could still feel the eyes of her Professor as they settled on her. As if an ominous figure, they followed her where ever she went, watching her every move, marking her as bait. Another violent shiver ran through her, causing some students who were walking in the opposite direction towards her to meet her eye and give her a questioning, almost sympathetic look. Or, that's how she interpreted it. Sure, any traumatizing event was cause for concern, but this was on its own level. It was its own plane of uncertainty and anxiety.

Hermione walked away silently. As she approached the entrance doors, she felt a tug on her heart that couldn't be ignored. Not only was she walking away from the potentially last time she'll ever walk through the twisting rows of books, but she was also walking away from her sanctuary. As much as she wished she could stay, to live in the magnificent place, she had to go. With reluctance, she pushed the doors open, exited the still library, walked down the quiet hall, down a less than adequate staircase before being bombarded by the unnaturally cool air of the early August night. Allowing the door to the building to close behind her, she stepped into the embrace of piercing coldness. Shivering, she whispered the first body heat spell that came to mind. The effects were immediate, and not at all strong. It was just enough to get her to her destination, no matter how much she feared or dreaded going home. Taking one last glance at the animated city of downtown London, Hermione began to descend the stairs.

As she walked, the body heat charm began to falter. Soon, all warmth had vanished, leaving her unbearably cold. She never felt so vulnerable. She chastised herself for leaving the house so unprepared, so defenseless. Even though she doubted an onslaught of any proportion, Hermione still felt that something wasn't quite right. She had felt it as soon as she rushed out of class. Whatever it was, it had followed her across the grounds before dispersing altogether. Even as she slept, she felt it. Although it hadn't made much sense then, but she knew that something wasn't right. As far as she knew, no Wizarding person occupied the historic walls of the building. Why would something as dark as the magic that had been following like a domesticated companion sudden vanish without a trace? Hermione didn't think it was possible, but there was a chance that the Ritual that she participated in, indeed, have some magical properties. Like the enchantments of Hogwarts, it had protected her.

Hermione filed into the Great Hall that morning feeling as though she wasn't in on their little secret. She felt their eyes sail over to her as she walked the lonely aisle before seating herself next to Harry, who presented her a faint smile before piling her plate with some of her favorite food. Before he could pile it too high, she placed her hand over the plate, smiled, and opted just for the blueberry muffin and a nice mug of coffee. He didn't say a word, or expressed the pained intimation of his guilt as she settled in. She only managed a few pieces before the owls swarmed in, delivering mail in one fellow swoop and flying away. All in all, the _Prophet_ managed to miss a large container of orange juice and Neville Longbottom, for once, didn't seem resigned in the fact that his grandmother's usual cheerless letter wasn't filled with resentment.

Harry picked it up, unfolded it, and laid it out between the three of them. He read quickly, his features darkening almost with every word. It didn't take long for Hermione to figure out that what he was reading wasn't good.

The three of them scanned the headlines and came out with absolutely nothing. Aside from a few raids, there had not been any recently attacks, disappearances, or odd disturbances, which under the circumstances was quite odd. It didn't make any sense. After weeks of disappearances and kidnappings, they suddenly stop their pursuits? What could they possibly be thinking? Could they be waiting for the perfect moment to strike a more fatal blow? Harry desperately wished he knew what these people were conspiring, that way he could have a stronger sense as to what to expect. It truly seemed that the entire thing had blown over, or at least, stopped for the time being. Harry did not buy it for a minute. Every time his eyes scanned the transitioning words, roamed over the moving pictures, his heart throbbed in his chest and his forehead burned with the intensity of a hundred hot wires.

He turned back to the front page, his eyes growing dark as he read the Headline.

"What's wrong," she asked instinctively, placing her muffin onto her plate and watching it disappear. Hogwarts knew that she was through.

"Malfoy," he growled under his breath. "Listen to this: _The Ritual of the Marriage Law took place in a secluded region just last night, and with the rise of the Dark Lord, one has to question the Ministry's decision to embark on such a dangerous mission for our youth. Even with the fear of the Dark Lord looming over their heads, the Board Members were forced to rethink the proposal. Though, most argue that this deplorable Law should be completely turned over, some employ that the Law is the best thing to happen to the Wizarding World. Supremist vouch that the sanction to rid the world of the filth will mark a new world order, and thrust the regime into greater heights. Lucius Malfoy was among those who earnestly advocated for the drawing of the Law, who played one of the key members during the meeting just last year. Those in support of the Law describe is as a cleanse that the world is in desperate need of, while others continue to implore the Ministry to reconsider demolishing it before the implications of harm ever takes root. Lucius intends for his only heir, Draco, to attend the ritual, and continue their pure bloodline…_

 _For more, turn to page 138…"_

"The slimy git!" Ron hissed under his breath, his face growing red with anger.

"Of course, Malfoy would be in support of its continuation," hissed Harry, tossing the article aside and pushing up his glasses. "Suppose he was paid to do it, then." The trio leaned into one another, avoiding their gazes with the rest of the table. To anyone else, it would look suspicious, but to them, they were only trying to cover up their tracks. The topic was a sensitive one; anyone would become upset by the news.

"Suppose Draco is reeling in the idea." Ron sneered. "Surprised his father hasn't found a way to put him in sooner. Though, only those of age can participate in this year's Ritual.

"What was the point of the Marriage Law? To ensure that safety of Muggles and Muggleborns by pairing them with someone who has the chance to fight off evil?"

"It isn't just that, Harry." He said. "You-Know-Who is gaining power, and the Ministry is finally realizing the magnitude of their error. The Ministry must be out of their bloody mind, though Dad said they'd regret their decision. They can't possibly think they can protect everyone by instilling this Law. It's just impossible."

"When are they announcing them?"

"Doesn't say."

It was no secret that the Ministry was under the preconceived notion that nothing was wrong. Harry had been the one to see what was left of the Dark Lord during his first year, and again when he was abducted in the middle of completing the last task in the Triwizard Tournament. No one, not even Fudge, wanted to admit that what he saw there, what he paid witnessed to, was real. Only Dumbledore and few selections of colleagues could amount to his testimony to Voldemort's comeback. It took countless deaths and bloodshed to open the Ministry's eyes, though, that epiphany may have come too late. Harry's been telling them for years to heed the ides of coming revolution; however, no one bothered to listen to him. They sat in with deliberation until the true nature of the conference came into fruition.

For years the Ministry of Magic as dismissed any notion of threat, having been moralized to believe that their world was perfectly safe. It was a horrible thing to assume, less than think. There were threats at every turn, and without the preparation and insight, Harry feared that whatever they were planning would be dismissed and covered-up as they had probably done with situations such as these in the past. Safety was no concern to the Minister when there was nothing to be gained from it. Corrupted, one would say; utterly inhumane, another would agree.

Hermione exhaled, daring a look at the Slytherin table.

Draco was in a questionable mood. Even so, she suspected, since his father announced that he would be participating in next year's Selection. Since he was a pathetic excuse for human being, speaking like a true maniac, dropping his gaze toward the surrounding Slytherins, and making a complete idiot of himself, Hermione was able to deduce that Draco was quite pleased with the whatever information he was able to collect. Such insolence. A part of her want to lash out, and strike him every time he reiterated the incorrect sequence. The other just found it rather amusing that he was drawing unwanted attention to himself in such a way. She knew the effect he had on others; women practically threw themselves in his embrace, men sunk to the ground where he stood. Even dragging them to their feet was not enough to satisfy the need to prove himself better, to rise higher than another, to be the absolute best that he could be. Hermione wasn't impressed.

Hermione instantly wanted to get his hands on him, and wring his throat of air. Living with the knowledge of knowing her life was about to end did not come with its usual perks; over the last couple of months, she made it clear that certain aspects of livelihood were not to be disrupted or tainted. She was also uncommonly careful. As she listened to their conversation, Hermione couldn't help wondering if Draco's father had anything to do with how her Ritual turned out, and if there was some darker, more protective force at work?

It was a horrible trait; it was an intricate part of is being that he could not escape.

Hermione dropped her gaze, becoming more aware of the burning in her palm. Countless times she's performed the water spell all to rid herself, even temporarily, of the pain caused by the scorching heat of whatever infiltrated her body. Whoever was behind this bold attack would wither get her version of praise, or a terrible slap. Punishment would never be withheld for harming him.

"He's up to something." Harry seemed to read her thoughts.

Hermione turned and looked at him.

Ron shrugged. "There has to be more," he murmured. "What the hell happened at the ritual, anyway?" He turned his gaze to Hermione, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Hermione bit her lip. "Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose."

"Knowing you, your idea of ordinary differentiates from our notion of the word."

He looked at her expectantly.

"What are you looking at me like that?"

Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Nothing, just curious."

"Well, keep your curiosity to yourself." She snapped, acting oddly. "It isn't tailored to be focused on two things at once."

"We weren't going to ask, 'Mione." Ron said. "Relax."

The Muggleborn looked between the two of them, a retort surely playing on her lips. Once she fabricated one successfully, she turned to engage Harry.

"What is your problem?"

"Nothing." He said truthfully, though it sounded like a contradiction to his own ears. She was quick to sort out the truth from the lie, however. "Just curious is all. How are you feeling?"

He knew deep down that his question was rejuvenating an unworthy cause, but he had to know. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice was making him ask. As ridiculous as it was, he listened and was rewarded splendidly by his efforts.

"Fine, thanks." Hermione settled into her seat, but didn't look at him. She was preoccupied by the strangeness of the question, he was sure. She looked around expectedly, waiting for someone to swoop in and save her. When it looked like he wasn't showing up any time soon, she turned her attention back to Harry.

"How was it?" he asked instead, brows furrowing as he tried to find a way to break down her walls and see her crumble.

It was a sadistic thing to ask. Even in her state of mind, she knew that, but that didn't stop him from trying to pry into her psyche, and find exactly what would make her tick. Harry continued to observe her. As Ron coiled back, Hermione averted her attention to a less significant aspect of their morning. The Great Hall remained immaculate as always, but that did not deter him from the greater observation that was beginning to take place. She was becoming highly sensitive to what he was trying to do. Even with this knowledge, she still found a way to answer as truthfully as she could and give him what he wanted.

Silence fell between the three of them, the question of what happened during the ritual playing in both boys' minds. Hermione ignored the gut-wrenching feeling bubbling up inside of her; she knew it would be impossible, but if they knew the truth, she felt that they would think less of her. Their anger was already palpable in the air, and she didn't want to add fuel to the imaginary fire. Instead, she looked away, not wanting to meet either of their gazes.

"Hermione."

"I don't want to talk about it," she quipped, upset that they wouldn't drop it.

In the back of her mind, the memory of travelling to the unmarked location was as fresh as the sea-drenched soil in which they tread upon. There was no getting over the way the land spoke to her; the spirits, mischievous and greedy as they were, still spoke in hushed, discursive whispers that, if it hadn't been for the lack of sleep, would be unbearably disorienting. Obscured clouds rolled into her minds eyes; a shrill shriek blasted loudly in her eyes, causing her to gasp and look around. Although she had very little recollection of the night aside from the healed, pearly skin where the knife sliced her palm before she blacked out, she remembered hearing the distinct sound of terror before everything grew cold, and dark. Blinking away the fresh onslaught of tears, Hermione looked to the boys with pleading eyes.

"Hermione, please," begged Harry, imploring her with a concerned gleam in his eyes.

She looked away, wiping away her tears.

Hermione didn't dare to look back. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out their inquisitive stares, the whispers- everything, until it all dissolved into a smooth hum of noise and shapes. When she reopened her eyes, she hoped to find that it was all just a horrible dream, but nothing could erase the impenetrable gaze of her best friend, the boy-who-lived. His eyes bore into her body… her soul was set aflame with the unquestionable light of inquiry and the knowledge that something was wrong. Breathing in deeply, Hermione collected herself quickly enough to hiss out an answer, to which stumped both Harry and Ron. Before either of them could answer, Draco sauntered over to where they were sitting, a grin playing on his lips. Apparently, he knew something that they didn't know.

The corner of Draco's mouth quirked into a considerate smirk as he advanced toward them. Pansy rested on his arm, an air of arrogance leaving her delectably evil form. The three of them held their breath; Hermione couldn't seem to still her racing heart. The frantic beat could be felt passing through her veins, and into her already heightened senses. She paid no mind to the outside world, commanding it to stay as it were, and leave her alone. Hermione never truly witnessed something as stranger or hypnotizing; out of all the things that she's seen, Draco's open deployment of his thoughts, and the way his eyes lingered on her for far too long caused her to plummet into her own pit of self-doubt. Hadn't it occurred at the expense of his own gain, she would've surely ceased to exist.

"I suppose you've already heard, haven't you?" Draco said, cutting into their conversation, and holding up a copy of the Prophet. He sounded exponentially delighted. "The Ritual took place last night, and the students of Hogwarts are expected to perform their marital duties. Father says that they'll publicly announce the couples sometime this week."

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Ron asked, anger boiling up inside of him.

"It means we get to see who's saddled up with who." Pansy giggled atrociously at his side. "I wouldn't be surprised if, in a couple of months, they decide to keep the Law and abolish anyone who tries to eradicate it. Just in a couple of months, I'll be integrated into the next selection. Father was able to pull some strings, and-"

"Can't imagine the sort of strings he had to pull," murmured Ron disdainfully.

Draco turned and stared at the boy, his grin growing and consuming much of his aristocratic face. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he threatened. "Suppose it's quite popular among the Purebloods to buy their way in. Reckon your dad had to kiss a lot of arse just so you can weasel your way into the selection, eh?

"You wouldn't know anything about tradition, now would you, Weaslebee? I don't think you're considering putting your name in it, then? I heard your sister is already looking for a potential suitor, yeah? I just saw her, and she can't seem to keep her hands to herself!"

"Leave my sister out of this!" he hissed, standing abruptly and causing the dishes around him to cling together and fall over. "At least my family wouldn't have to buy their way into this mess!"

"Oh, yes," the despicable boy seethed. "At least I'd be a model suitor, unlike you. I'd be able to give my wife the world, whereas you'd only be able to build her a den for the pigs. No amount of money can coax anyone to want to marry any of you, Weasley. Am I right, Potter? Or, are you trying to weasel your way into the Law as well?" Draco narrowed his eyes on the boy-who-lived, before taking a daring gander at Hermione. His eyes flashed with the unmistakable light of desire.

"You're only trying to pursue your own end," hissed Ron, angrily. He stood up, procuring his wand from his pocket.

"Plan to fight me, are you?" snarled the boy. "You can't even cast a spell, much less protect your grimy old wife."

"You're right," Ron said in a low, deadly voice. "

Draco's eyes unabashedly flickered to Hermione, and a nasty grin formed on his lips. "I suppose Granger's already found out who her new husband is. Has she told you yet?"

Hermione looked pleadingly at the boy. There was no mistake that he was disgusting excuse for a human being, or so she thought.

Draco stormed towards the shivering mess that was now his adversary. Everyone knew of his obsession with the Muggleborn, but even the boys didn't think he'd try to match with her.

"I-I"

"You what?" He sneered, eyes narrowing on his target. Draco stood a few feet away from him. An unflattering smile stretched across his face. "Come on, Granger. Tell them."

"Leave her alone, Drakie." Pansy cooed passionately. "Whoever they are, they wouldn't want them sullying their name with the Mudblood, now would they?"

Draco looked at her, flashing his eyes darkly in the girl's direction. Pansy immediately went quiet, biting her lip in the process.

"Why does it concern you?" Hermione whispered, holding onto the courage to keep her gaze with him.

"Scared that they'd disown you, Mudblood?" sneered Draco, eyes glowing. "Afraid that they'd think less of you?"

It didn't take long for Hermione's heart rate to soar to a critical level. A cool zephyr bombarded her the moment, cooling her overheated body, but doing absolutely nothing to calm her nerves. She was horrified. How could those simple words cause such turmoil? Had he enough pleasure tormenting her in the past? Granted, it had been her wistful wishing that he would cease and grow up. Two separate ideas, but with the same haunting message. As she removed herself from human contact, her breathing became shallow. She was a mirror image of the girl she once was, and for a second, Draco was able to see the terror she was faced with. As she continued to look at him, she wondered what his deal was. Desperate to figure this out, Hermione ventured over to the umbra of her subconscious, only to have a sharp pain to her chest rise through the surface.

She leaned forward at the sudden pain. Throwing her full attention to it, she closed her eyes, taking in a refreshing inhale of air. The cool breeze seemed to alleviate some of the mysterious illness that struck her literally when she least expected it. Deciding it was best not to dwell on something that she knew she couldn't comprehend, she relented in her demands to know. With every passing second, she could feel the boy's eyes bore into her, tearing her apart at the seams. Somehow, he knew. From a long-disremembered past, or a secured and close present; it was hard to tell, especially when her emotions were running wild as she quickly grew to recognize the pain bestowed to her.

"That's right, no one could ever love a filthy Mudblood like you," Draco's voice rang out.

In the interim of her breakdown, everything broke like pieces of glass and fell to her feet.

* * *

Author's Note: Happy New Years! I planned on publishing this ages ago, but I couldn't word it they way I wanted. So, it was postponed several times. I do have the next two chapters carefully planned out not only for IMPETUS, but for FATED TO BE OURS & BEAUTY IS BEAST, as well. I want to announce Hermione's marriage to Severus at precisely the right time, so don't be alarmed if it takes me just a bit longer to iron that out :) Hope y'all had a wonderful first day of the new year!

 _As always, enjoy_

-Carolare Scarletus


	9. The Torment

**A/N down below.**

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¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

Impetus

Chapter Nine

The Torment

¸.•*¨~-`*`-~¨*•.¸

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*.-"-.*

Be sworn, my love

'tis not the life

That you could possibly

Reveal

0r handle

*.-"-.*

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Behind her closed eyes, Hermione could see bursts of light flash before her. Even then, as she stood completely helpless to the world outside her comfortably bubble, she could just make out the muffled sounds. When Hermione opened her eyes, she was meant with a scene that would've made a grown man cringe in horror. Bright lights flashed before her as her eyes adjusted to the lights, and when they finally did, she found Ron standing over a stunned Draco. Blood trickled from his nose. It took a mere second before the light that erupted between the four of them to settle down, this time coming from a distant place that she couldn't even imagine.

"Take it back, you Bastard!" roared Ron as he stood, pulled out his wand, and aimed it at the boy. It took a matter of seconds for him to realize that the red-haired boy wasn't playing around, and once he did, Draco threw up his hands defensively, taking great consideration for the sleeves of his uniform as he stood. Harry narrowed his eyes but said nothing. "Take. It. **BACK**!"

"What's it to you, anyway?" the Pureblood drawled tightly, wincing as Ron shoved his wand into his chest. He grimaced, cursing under his breath at the pain. "

"You have rather unhealthy obsession with the news." A smile stretched further up his face. The very act looked unnatural. "Why do you keep snooping around in places you don't belong?"

"What I do is none of your damn business, Weaslebee!"

Ron chuckled darkly. "Oh, but it is. "Something about what he was going to say next sent the wrong sensations to run through Draco's body.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He seethed. "You actually think I care about that-"

"Don't you dare say it!"

"Disgusting-"

"I'm warning you now-"

"Filthy-"

" _Malfoy!_ "

" ** _Mudblood_.** "

In the amount of time it took Draco to say the word, it took Ron less to appear in front of him, wrap his fingers tightly around his neck, and squeeze it until he saw what natural color in his face drained from his face. Eyes dilated in absolute fear, his breathing becoming more strained and desperate by the second, the life slowly pulling away from the host body- Ron had right where he wanted him. He was in the hands of someone who could end a life without so much as a thought. As beautiful as it was destructive, Ron handled it was ease, disregarding the immoral injustice. No one talked bad about her. No one lived to see another day if they even thought that derogatory name. Had he not made it perfectly clear? Perhaps not, especially not with Draco. He was the only one who had any inkling as to what his feeling were towards her. The bastard had come uncomfortably close, and it was right time to remind him of his place. Ron did not make the rules, he did not stand over him, nor did wield the power that he had, but he'd be damned if Draco said another word about Hermione again.

He appeared to Hermione as a ruined vessel of himself, one wrought with extreme anger.

Chaos ensued instantly. Ron muttered an invocation that sent a jet of light to issue from the tip of his wand. Although it missed, it sent Draco scrambling to get away. As he tried to throw the boy off him, Ron threw another hex at him, this time hitting him squarely in the chest. Draco stumbled backward, Pansy's cries echoing from their small nook, alerting the attention of everyone who was in the Hall. Soon, a small group of students formed around them. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas tried to pry the two apart, but found it much too difficult. Instead, they ran and alerted the attention of the nearest Professor. Shouts erupted from every angle; it was a fight the likes of which Hogwarts has never seen.

"Doesn't matter what's in her blood," Ron seethed, jabbing his wand into his chest again, this time twisting it. Another deadly hex was on the tip of his tongue. If it wasn't for being distracted with conversation, his temper surely would've snapped, and he would've hexed the poor boy to death. Harry desperately tried to calm him, but it was of no avail. Nothing could've stopped the madness that was rising inside of him, spilling over into the waking worlds and to those were witnessing its power. "She doesn't have to tell us. She didn't ask for this- _none_ of them did! Only sick fuckers like you and your father would want something so cruel as this damn Law!"

"Make me," Draco snarled.

As several individuals clad in black robes ran immediately to their side, the standoff between the two of them intensified. Some shouted a variety of incoherent instructions as others began cheering loudly. Harry turned away from her, allowing the two to do what they were widely and respectfully known for. Slowly, Draco turned his head around and as if out of nowhere was greeted by a familiar face. Standing inaudibly with his both his hands placed idly on the smooth curve of the wall was their Professor. It had been an unforeseen turn in their spar.

"That is enough!"

The crowd parted just in time to see the spell hit Draco. As he walked, Ron tightened his grip on his wand, yelling the first charm that came to mind. He aimed his wand at his opponent, allowing the greenish spark to jet out from the tip of his wand. He sprang quickly into action, performing a second spell. Another joined them, and the man was finally stabilized in an electrifying cocoon of green, white, and gold. Each string of magic, completely unique to the individual who conjured the rope, glimmered in the moonlight. Malfoy stared angrily at Ron, who didn't shrivel back in his obvious declaration of animosity. He raised his hand to support the white rope of magic.

"What is going on here?" an uncaring voice droned, the owner approaching them without so much as a sound.

They turned to find Professor Snape waltzing over to them, his robes billowing behind him as he made his menacing appearance. Callous eyes continued to gaze at them with uninterested hurry. The infinite abyss of mercury orbs met plain, hazel ones and instant made a passing shiver run enticingly slow through his body. He felt it from where he sat. He relished in the fact he had that kind of effect on her, and everyone else who was unfortunate enough to be in his attendance. He appeared tired, worn out to the degree that couldn't be humanly possible. His expression was as unreadable and dark as ever. Even Draco shivered at the sight of the ungodly image of their Professor. Cautiously, Snape maneuvered toward the four of them. Pansy gulped, slipped from group and ran away. His dense, black eyes locked with Draco's. He took several steps before stopping a good distance away from him. Never has anyone made him fear them as much as Snape did now.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked coldly, the words coming out as a curse rather than a demand. "You better have a good enough reason for drawing your wands and firing such powerful hexes."

"It isn't what it looks like, Professor. I-"

"Silence," Snape hissed. "I know what I saw. You were about to hex Malfoy, and do not try to act as if you weren't. Now, tell me what could've provoked you."

"Potter," the boy bobbing in the air spat venomously.

Snape slowly turned to find Harry glaring at them, his anger quite apparent to the Potion's Master. "Yes, it seems that Potter is always trying to find a way to immortalize his fame, but he does not appear to be the culprit this time. However, that doesn't explain why Mr. Weasley was about to cast the Stinging Jinx on you. Care to explain?"

"He said something about Hermione!"

"And, what did Malfoy say, exactly?" Professor Snape raised an eyebrow, his head turning slowly to look at the defeated-looking girl, before throwing his attention elsewhere.

It was then that everything began piecing itself back together. With tearful eyes, Hermione began to take in the scene in a whole new light. Slowly, she looked at everyone around her, finally laying eyes on the only presumably guarding deity in her bleak trance of astonishment. Hermione's eyes locked onto Professor Snape's, and a sense of depredation wracked her body. Her palm burned as her breath hitched painfully within her throat. Deep down, she feared that they would figure it out, and once they did, they wouldn't want anything to do with her.

-Add more?-

Snape was trained for just this occasion, having spent the better part of his life mastering such extreme practices. Why he had suddenly stopped them was beyond hers, but he knew he did it only to save himself. He had been the one to ask for assistance, making sure that that she met and courted a kinship and harm was at a zenith. An overactive imagination and growing reports of missing persons and murders had drove her to delve back into the world she swore she would never associate with again. Acceptance like that was very hard to come by, especially for someone in a position as unique as theirs. However, she had been sworn into secrecy, and in secrecy she would stay.

"He called her a Mudblood, Professor." Harry harshly interjected, knowing that he wouldn't care. But, he wasn't the one looking into his eyes. Hermione let out a strangled cry, and he turned to ensure that she was alright. "Before then, he came to taunt us about an article in the Prophet."

"What did this article include?"

Harry, clearly agitated, said," That the Ministry is considering keeping the Law, or something, and that he would be allowed in the next selection."

"That's what she _is,_ isn't she?" Draco spat, glaring between the two boys before, finally, Snape stopped him. A large hand touched his shoulder, and without so much as a word, he recoiled against his hold. A pained expression crossed his features, and the air around them became unbearably tight. It was like a heavy weight had been placed on their shoulders, and they were waiting until it crushed them all to death. Standing there, they knew they were witnessing something extraordinary.

" _I'll fucking kill you_!" Ron shot up, aiming to wrap his hands around Draco's throat. Before he could, Snape grabbed hold of his arm, and flung him to the ground. Once sedated, Snape stepped over the boy, pressing his heels into the fabric of his robes, his own wand pointed to him in case he decided to do anything regrettable.

"What Malfoy decides to do with this Law is not your business, as it is not his business to know whom Miss Granger is associating herself with."

"When it comes to my friends, I think it is my business." Harry said hotly.

"I suggest that you put away your wand, Potter," Snape spat, reluctantly lowering his own. As soon as his magic enveloped them in a cocoon of radiant warmth and comfort, the light in Harry's eyes extinguished, leaving him vulnerable to the mistress of reality. He had been the one to cast the charm, where she would remain a deep state of uncertainty for the remainder of the day. At least until all his wounds have been successfully healed and he has been administered enough healing potions, Harry would have the satisfaction of knowing that they won. Voices sounded around them and the scene dissolved back into reality. He was no longer watching his best friend attack Malfoy. He couldn't make out what they were saying, what they needed. All he could focus on was on Hermione. The look of terror still lingering on her face. He tried to move but couldn't. His body would not allow the closeness; his mind could not bring him to accept what could have been. Snape was almost entirely too late. Another minute or two, and Malfoy would've been seriously injured. If he hadn't received word when he did, he would have surely missed the chance.

Harry finally did as he was asked, watching as Snape slowly lessoned his magic and freed Ron. But, a spell like that did not care or require equally distributed magic to be performed. It was when one of them removed their magic when things got bad and unstable. Snape continued to remove his magic, careful not to remove it too fast or they would have to find another way to stabilize the man that was now thrashing wildly in the small cocoon. He could only allow his imagination fill in where the words failed to reach his ears. He was not one for profanity, so he really had to work hard to fill in the missing words in the already mangled sentences of his student's attacker. The red-haired boy stumbled, moving until he stood right next to Hermione. His was the weakest, most unstable.

A powerful surge of righteousness flowed into him; Harry wanted to receive retribution for what he did to him all these years. Would anyone allow him the pleasure? He could only pray to the Gods that they allowed him to do something, anything to appease the angered beast that swelled up inside of him like a balloon. He was ready to burst when Ron's voice pricked the elastic covering and deflated the beast into a flatten mess.

"Come back and face me like a man, you coward!" Ron roared, looking around frantically. "Your father won't be able to help you! Once I'm done, he'll barely recogniz-"

"Ronald Weasley!"

He whirled his head around, panting as he looked at the crowd that gathered around them.

The found Professor McGonagall hurrying towards them, a look of pure fury crossing her face. As soon as she stopped, she gave each of them an offended look before turning her attention to Ron.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked shrilly, looking between them for an answer.

"Nothing to be alarmed about, Minerva." Snape told her smoothly. "I was making my rounds when a student from Ravenclaw alerted me of their quarrel. I fully intend to reprimand them for their little spar with strict disciplinary action."

"I should hope so," she said curtly, her sharp eyes narrowing on Ron as he continued to breath in heavily. "I expect you three to clean up this mess, and go to class at once. I believe Potter's and Weasley's timetable have changed. Their first lesson is Potion's. I shall take Mr. Weasley to my office and discuss the incident later. I hope to see that you do the same with Mr. Malfoy."

Professor McGonagall turned to face Hermione, who silently witness the deterioration of her best friends over the course of a few minutes. She was very much distraught, and worried.

"Granger," she greeted her the moment she stopped between the group. "May I have a word? Alone?"

Harry and the others looked between themselves and reluctantly made themselves scarce. Professor McGonagall watched indifferently as they walked away and disappeared from the group. Once they did, she turned to Hermione and smiled.

"First of all, I would like to provide you my condolences." Her Head of House told her with a sorrowful expression. "It was beyond my power. I wouldn't have allowed it if…if I had a say in the matter. This is for you Miss Granger. I beseech that you read it in privacy." His eyes flickered to Harry as she secured her hand more firmly on Ron's robes. He grunted. "Otherwise, it may fall into the wrong hands." Professor McGonagall took out a small envelope sealed with a dark imprint. Tentatively, she took it from her hand and held it to her chest, not once daring to look her in the eye.

The older witch reached out and gave her a small hug. It was entirely unexpected, but welcomed eagerly. She needed it. For some reason, she was missing that connection and was grateful for the Head of her House for extending that sincere gesture to her. When she pulled away, Hermione returned the warm smile.

"Thank you," she whispered

"Of course," the older woman patted her shoulder and looked over to where Professor Snape stood with Malfoy. With a nod, he gestured to the young heir and they both stopped their discussion and walked over to where they lingered patiently for their arrival. Hermione tensed noticeably, but Professor McGonagall was quick to appeal to her. "Everything will be alright, dear."

"How can you be so certain?" she didn't think before the words came rushing out of her mouth. Realization struck after that, causing her to look pleadingly at the older witch repentantly.

"One cannot be entirely certain," she admitted just as she looked up at Professor Snape and the other,"but, one can ease their conscious by believing that it will be. Don't you agree?"

Hermione frowned," I suppose so…" she mumbled.

Professor McGonagall smiled. It was a stress upon her fair and beautifully aged face, but stunning nonetheless. Her eyes tinkled in the same manner Dumbledore's did.

"Ah, Professor Snape!" she greeted her rival with a different kind of pleasantry Hermione has never seen. Perhaps seeing that one of his pupils being Head Boy had caused their relationship to flourish into something deadly and artistically dangerous. They regarded each other as if it were they who had been selected to represent the Ministry in their dishonorable attempt of unity. Would it have been a horrible thing? To think that they could have somehow been chosen together to become the heart and statement of the school was laughable. Looking at the man was hard. It gave Hermione little hope…

…she just didn't know what she was going to do.

Professor did not offer so much as a glance in her time of need, not that she expected him to.

"I just spoke to the Headmaster about your favor, but deemed the conversation more appropriate if you went to deliver the news."

"You don't say?" he struggled to keep his composure. To reiterate what he probably told Malfoy seemed more like a chore than an honor. Then again, Professor Snape was far from an honorable man. "Very well, then. I suppose it wouldn't hurt anyone," he eyed Hermione, torn between continuing his sentence or shutting up.

His words pleased them. All except Hermione, of course. She couldn't put a finger on it, but the Professor seemed a bit off. A bit torn and damaged. If it wasn't for the voice in the back her mind begging her not to evade on his social life, she would have asked. Instead, she kept her mouth shut.

"As for you," she indicated to Ron as she began to walk," I shall send word to you when I am ready to speak to you. Here are your timetables. I expect you to remain in my good graces until I can collect you. That goes for you Potter. Malfoy will be dealt with, I'm sure." She handed each boy their respected timetables before storming away, making sure than anyone caught in proximity were severely reprimanded. Clearly, the first day back wasn't going accordingly, and she would bring them all down to ensure that they followed the rules.

"Bloody prick," the Pureblood said vehemently, glowering at each of them before wiping the blood splattering his mouth. A soft groan escaped the wizard's lips, but he did not say anything else.

"That is enough, Draco." He told him smoothly. "I will not tolerate any more derogatory words," his dark eyes lingered over the helpless boy before flickering over to where Harry stood, and with a sneer, he said, "even if they are true. Five points from Slytherin, and if I ever find you provoking another student, I will take more points. Now, go. First class is about to start, and it wouldn't look good for a Prefect to be late."

Draco broke from his hold and scurried away like a frightened animal.

Hermione stood there shaking. Not quite believing what just happened, she turned to Harry for answers. He gave her a sympathetic look, before turning his attention back to Snape. Hate filled his eyes. As despicable as Draco was, Harry's always hated the man that stood before him. The feeling was mutual.

"As for Weasley, twenty points for almost killing another student, and if I _ever_ see him try to hex Malfoy again, there will be dire consequences." He paused, looking around as his eyes grew dark. "You are _dismissed_!" The crowd that gathered around them dispersed just as quickly as it formed. Snape didn't even try hide his annoyance.

Just as Snape was about to turn and walk away, Harry spoke, which ultimately halted his attempt to escape.

"Is that all you're going to do?" Harry asked, angry.

"I advise that you stay out of other people's affairs, Potter." The older wizard said darkly. "Fifteen points for speaking to me without respect and provoking other students." He turned again, walking away from the mess that he created.

"He's derided Hermione for years, and all you're going to do is take points away from him? What a brilliant way of showing-"

"Enough-"

"-fairness. Draco is just as at fault, and Ron was only trying to protect-"

"Harry, please," begged Hermione, her voice cracking.

"I said _enough_!" Snape hissed venomously. For a split second, they saw the man behind the many masks. Like a mirror, his façade broke, and the true man underneath the mask was exposed. A seething grin stretched unnaturally across his face, delivering his already colorless eyes into the void that was deliverance.

"Just like your father," he hissed, almost gliding over to where Harry stood. He towered over the young boy, and in that moment, he felt powerful. _He_ was in control, and not someone else. "Always trying to make himself look good, despite the motley of flaws.

Harry didn't say anything. He stood there, frozen, for the lack of a better word.

"It seems that I've finally struck a nerve with you," he sneered, pressing against the tight barrier that was appropriate for a Professor to tread. "I expected this from other students, Potter, but never did I imagine that your idiotic friend would find himself trying to win the affections of Miss Granger, and in the most disastrous way, I may add. Another _ten points_ for being foolish. I will _not_ be spoken to like that again, Potter. Do you understand me? As for Miss…Granger… she seems to be an inch away from death. Take her to see Poppy. I shall inform Professor McGonagall, and she will excuse her from class if need be. You and Weasley will each receive a week's detention and I will have a word with the Headmaster. Perhaps then you will learn to respect your elders." With a flourish, he turned on his heel and walked away in a stream of black ink.

True, Hermione did appear to be in a great amount of pain, but that couldn't compare to the pain that was now playing in the soft depths of her eyes.

Hermione stood completely immobilized as the ambient air grew tighter. While the group had dispersed considerably, she still felt the tightness accompanied with such proximity. She looked around, feeling the corners of her eyes sting. She wanted to cry, but bade them off as long as she could. The group grew at an alarming rate. At least fifteen more people had arrived, with a promise of more to follow. As much as she wished to simply escape to the safe house and forget everything that Draco said, she had important business to attend to. Not only did he have to enlist her friend's help and magic to transport them safely away from harm, she had to make sure that Harry and Ron didn't get into more trouble than they already were. On the other hand, if she didn't hurry, she'd expire, and she did not want Snape helping her if she did.

She watched him go, and as soon as he was gone, Harry hurried over to her and asked," Are you alright?" Hermione finally realized that Snape departed, Harry insisted that he help mend some of the nastier memories. He clearly felt just as horrible as he did; the tears of her sadness, self-hate, and bottle up emotions stood as evidence on her face in perfectly jagged lines.

"Just take me away," was the only thing that she whispered, wanting nothing more to forget what she just saw.

* * *

Ron found them waiting just outside the Great Hall. She knew they had been watching them, their inquiring minds working just as fast as their curious eyes. They would never leave her alone, now. Not when they knew the serpent was standing twenty feet away, talking to Professor Snape in low, muted hushes. Hermione prevailed, keeping her walk steady and coordinated. There was some sort of anguish in the way she looked at her friends, the same reaction she got from Malfoy. He was always watching, always listening always there. He was a nightmare she could not escape from.

"Out of all the lowlife, miserable bastards," Ron started, grumbling.

"I don't like him either, Ron, but we can't let our anger get the best of us." sighed Harry for the umpteenth time. Not that they had many to pick from. Anyone would be better than him, even a simpleton that had no magical talent would be a good replacement for Malfoy. "Besides, you're not seeing it in the right viewpoint. Have you even considered what Hermione might be feeling? Malfoy could easily be hiding the fact that he knows who she was paired up with. He's only trying to rile us up."

"Next time he won't be so lucky," said Hermione as they hurried down the corridors and up the staircase. "I'll be able to knock him out- this time for more than a minute before someone comes to save his sorry arse."

"You think it'll be that easy?"

He nodded vigorously, licking his lips once as to concentrate better not to mutter silent obscenities. "Snape didn't say that you'd have separate detentions, did he? I'd be happy to trade you. That way,

"I don't think Hermione would forgive you if you threw away your education like that and were sent to Azkaban."

No measurable amount of time in Azkaban would even begin to atone for the brutal attack on his only daughter. She was a precious gem that could not be sold, a masterpiece of liveliness that could not be bought; life without her was no life he wanted to live, nor did he wish to ever delve into a world of the unknown and unholy. They almost lost her, and he wasn't going to take any chances.

"I'd be doing it in her honor." He proposed with a smile. "Besides," he leaned in and said," what she doesn't know won't kill her."

Harry looked to Hermione, but found that the girl didn't want anything to do with the conversation. She had enough. He could see it in her eyes that she needed to get away, and that's exactly what they did.

Thank tap-dancing Merlin that this Law wasn't a life-long commitment, or they would all be fucked. They'd find a way for her to get out of it somehow.

"Yeah" Hermione whispered softly," that makes me feel loads better."

Harry exhaled irritably again. There was just no way of forgetting him. It was a moot point, anyway.

The morning had drawn to close and shortly after the incident in the Great Hall, they found themselves hurrying down the corridors to their first class. The first years, aided by the Prefects of their Houses, were being escorted to their respective classes, leaving the older students to linger around the halls and exchange last minute words before finding their way to their classes as well. Harry and company were on their way to the Potion's when they saw a tuft of red hair and a very exasperated witch running towards them. She looked flustered, but other than that untouched.

"Oh, goodness!" she squeaked, meeting up with them. "Thought I would never find you."

"You don't say," Ron muttered, and Ginny rolled her eyes. She nudged him and glared.

"Cheer up, dear brother. At least you have a choice of getting your arse kicked by your sister!"

Ron hissed, but obliged.

Hermione looked between them, brow furrowing a little as her eyes searched from some answer to her question. They were definitely acting odd, but she didn't want to call them out on it, especially when she knew why they were acting so weird. What she couldn't ascertain was why they weren't talking to her about it. Their concerns meant more to her than they thought.

"I heard it from Dean. He told me what happened. Malfoy had it coming, of course."

"You're talking to Dean?" this seemed to distract him from the bigger issue.

"That's none of your business." Ginny paused. "I know you have something to say. We haven't got all night, Ron."

"Oh, yeah," he said, jaw clenched as he tried to keep himself from exploding. "I've got something to say, but it isn't for polite conversation." When they didn't push him about what was whirling around in his mind, he growled lowly and dismissed them with rude remark. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The group remained silent. No one dared speak until it became overwhelming. Hermione knew best not to inquire further about Ron's brash behavior; even she wasn't too keen about what the day entailed, but that didn't give the right to act the way he did. She knew it would be up to her to comfort him. First thing in the morning, that was exactly what she was going to do, but first she needed survive. She needed to survive the day before she reacquainted herself with the night. It could very well be said for her friends, as well.

"Shall we go to class?" she asked softly. It was a code that she was sure they would be able to figure out. Little did they know, she didn't want to go to the Head's Dormitories quite yet. In fact, she didn't want to go at all. Perhaps, if she played her cards right and was able to sneak away from everyone else, she would be able to find home in the Room of Requirement. Surely, she would be able to? Unfortunately, it seemed, Professor McGonagall caught onto her idea for she was now floating towards them in dark green robes and a stern look on her face.

Professor Slughorn was through with his explanation of their duties. Not once did he leave her without an answer, but when it came to the actual assignment, she was left question him more than understanding what he was saying. All in all, she was able to take a lot from his lecture, even more so when her Professors came to long awaited decision to be civil than their usual snarky selves. Even in the back of her mind, Malfoy's presence remained relatively quiet throughout the duration of their debate. She was impressed by his turn of demeanor, but still very curious to the strangeness of it. What was going through his mind? As Slughorn thrown them into their first lab, that question began to fester like a tiny ball inside her. At one point she considered speaking to him, but thought against it. She was tired, delirious even. All she wanted now was to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This publication came two days later than originally anticipated due to a death in my family. It came as a complete shock because my grandmother on my father's side looked as if she was improving, but her lungs just couldn't continue. I don't want to get too in depth with it, but let me leave it here: there will be a Memorial Service sometime in May. My grandmother was cremated, and I will be going up to see my family for that soon. I'm at a complete loss for words right now, but I know I'll be able to calmly bounce back and carry on.

 **On the more positive note:** I have an interview for a new job tomorrow (1/11), and I'm praying that I impress them, despite my worries. Let's just say, there is always room for growth and improvement :) I will keep y'all as updated as I can with that.

Other than that, I'm very happy how this chapter turned out! Let me know what you think, yes?

-Carolare Scarletus


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